Though Stars May Fall
by CMK
Summary: Ever since the day his best friend died, John St.-Varda, bravest of the brave, has always hunted his prey alone. Now his newest bounty has paired him up with his mortal enemy. What does fate have in store for him?
1. Priority One

** Though Stars May Fall   
Prologue: Priority One **   
  


* * *

_ Office of Defense   
Planet Tr'kl'thos, Galactic Federation Outpost _   
  
Bounty hunters. To some, heroes. To others, the scum of the galaxy. To a select few, partners. To even fewer, friends. But to all, dreaded and fearsome foes, living legends during their time, mysterious and deadly assassins known to few and trusted by none. Questions surrounded them like a second skin. Who were they? Could they be trusted? Why did they love money so much? Such was John St.-Varda.   
  
St.-Varda was his true name, but among his peers and customers he was known simply as "Ronin," his preferred callsign. He was a male human, relatively tall for his species at two standard meters and five centimeters, with keen brown eyes and crisp, neat walnut hair. He was well-built, with a look of one who maintains strength despite the debilitating effects of zero-g environments. Among his large variety of skills was charm; to his credit, few females of his species could resist him. For this day and occasion, he wore a slightly threadbare military uniform and long rubber boots.   
  
Opposite him was the Galactic Federation's Commissar for Defense. The two men were seated in the commissar's office, a simple, small room lined with metallic tiles and bare of anything without relationship to business. Which happened to be what they were discussing. The commissar cut straight to the point. "What do you know about the planet Noriath, Mr. Ronin?"   
  
Ronin, seated across from the commissar in a simple folding chair, leaned back. "Located on the very edge of the galaxy, supposedly in the 14-62-339 sector, if my memory serves. It's a class-A planet, rich with life, vegetation, atmosphere, and its main export is grain. A farming planet, with a population of approximately 445 million, most of which is concentrated in the capital city - and only city - of Sa'is Da'ar. Speaking of population, it's one of the few planets where humans are the only sentient species. I've never been there before, though." He tapped his fingers on the commissar's desk. "Would you get to the point, Mr. Commissar?"   
  
The commissar nodded and passed to Ronin a sheet of plastic paper containing the vital statistics of the planet. Ronin took it in at a single glance, then folded it away for later inspection. "We lost contact with the planet two weeks ago," the commissar said. "The level of technology on Noriath is by no means impressive. News is gathered, shipped to a central telecommunications system, and then passed through a series of satellites that ultimately bring the information to Sagittarius Station. From there it can be accessed from all over the Federation, but of course you knew that already, Mr. Ronin."   
  
Ronin made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "My profession, Mr. Commissar, is bounty hunter, not technician. And my time is valuable."   
  
The commissar remained unruffled. "I understand that, Mr. Ronin. The bounty for this mission is twenty million Federation credits. Before you decide whether or not to accept it, I must first say that a technical crew was first dispatched to inspect the satellites, then the planet. The satellites were found to be free of defect; rarely does a communications blackout occur from a planet, but this was suspected for this particular case. The technical crew reported from Noriath's orbit that short-range communications also seemed to be hampered; quite unusual for such a blackout to last a standard week. They did a ground inspection."   
  
"Let me guess, Mr. Commissar," Ronin ventured. "They were never heard of again."   
  
"Very observant of you, Mr. Ronin, but not quite correct. The last word from the crew was sent some time after touchdown, and it was not received until nearly one standard hour after the technical ship had already landed. Federation procedure is to report -"   
  
"Yes, I know, every two standard hours. And they haven't reported for a week. And no Federation crew makes a mistake like that." Ronin shrugged. "Maybe your crew had a problem with its equipment." The moment he said that, he felt like an idiot.   
  
"A technical crew, sent specifically to repair communications, experiencing a technical breakdown? Of a standard week? Mr. Ronin, I am disappointed."   
  
"So why should I take the commission?" Ronin demanded, a little put off by his rashness. "It's a task for the military. Granted, twenty million's kinda tempting, but I could make just as much hunting down some criminals that the Commerce Guild wants. The Guild's credits are every bit as useful as the Federation's."   
  
"Perhaps this will change your mind, Mr. Ronin." The commissar shifted his computer so that Ronin could see into the screen. Then he pressed a button and a transmission - broken in places and somewhat faded - began to repeat. "This is the first mate of the _Herald's Path_, making standard transmission as per Federation protocol upon touchdown. Noriath is strangely quiet - no one hailed us on the approach to the tower. Equipment's fine here, though, doesn't look like anything catastrophic happened - no ion storms, no abnormal weather, nothing. Anyway, the captain ..." Here the transmission faded into static before resuming. "... but no ... of life yet. If this is a prank, it's an awfully big one ... otherwise, Sa'is Da'ar is fine. On a last note," but here an alarm klaxon began to ring in the background, "... battle stations? Looks like an emergency, HQ, I'll report when it's been ... what the ...! Aargh, help! Hel-" A sick squishing sound abruptly cut off the first mate's transmission. After a few more moments, in which sporadic gunfire was sometimes heard, the transmission ended. The commissar looked at Ronin expectantly.   
  
"What did your analysts make of that, Mr. Commissar?"   
  
The commissar spread out his hands. "Inconclusive, Mr. Ronin. It was the last heard of the crew. The military sent a number of scouts in an attempt to contact the crew of the _Herald's Path_ from orbit, but these were unsuccessful and Sagittarius Station was not willing to risk another ground investigation in light of what had occurred."   
  
"Hmm, can't exactly blame them. So, if I _do_ take the mission, how much of the money is up front?"   
  
"Half a million credits, Mr. Ronin."   
  
Ronin sighed an exaggerated sigh of strained patience coupled with unknowable suffrance. "Fine. Sounds like the potential fun outweighs the measly front pay. When do I leave?"   
  
"In eighteen standard hours, Mr. Ronin. This mission is priority one. You will travel aboard the battlecruiser _Star Shard_, where you will be more fully briefed, and there you may contact your team members."   
  
"Team members?!" Ronin exploded, losing his complacency in an instant. "Wait a minute, now! I work alone, Mr. Commissar. Either that or I don't work at all! If I'm expected to be part of a team, I'm backing out now."   
  
"We do not like this arrangement either, Mr. Ronin, but the nature of Sa'is Da'ar's main communications relay is that at least four operatives must be on hand in order to restart it. A solo mission is a technical impossibility. Your other three teammates are as well-qualified as you are and should already be aboard the _Star Shard_."   
  
"I said it before and I'll say it again, Mr. Commissar, I only -"   
  
"What if we double the bounty, Mr. Ronin?"   
  
Ronin had to admit that he was tempted, but he held firm. "A 'no' is a 'no,' commissar!" He stood up, somewhat indignant. "I've wasted my time here, and my time is valuable. If you'll excuse me, there's -"   
  
"One of your teammates is Samus Aran." The commissar's eyes now held a sharp, calculating gleam that Ronin did not like one bit. A distant part of his mind suddenly became worried - how did he know? But Ronin realized that what the man thought didn't matter anymore. It was what he had said - that was where the importance lay. The equation had changed, drastically; money was insignificant compared to the temptation laid out before him now.   
  
Ronin paused for a moment before reseating himself and replying, "That is ridiculous! Samus _always_ works alone."   
  


* * *

_ Jodi's Bar and Grill   
Two hours have passed _   
  
To John St.-Varda's knowledge, almost all bounty hunters had one girlfriend per planet, two with luck. A bounty hunter's work could take him anywhere, and naturally most of them made acquaintances on the various planets where they found work. It was easy, really. Women were so quickly charmed by a bounty hunter, a fascinating, hardened individual with an endless supply of tales, supplemented by jokes in a few cases. The bounty hunters were quickest to exploit the mystique that surrounded them, the aura of an unflappable warrior who had seen it all through his wide travels. In a few rare cases, it was actually true.   
  
But John's friend was no mere acquaintance, not just someone who listened goggled-eyed to his stories, but someone who seemed able to truly emphatize with him. Justine B. Lee was nearly his height, a serious, straight-faced blonde girl who had the look of a sleek panther. She worked a day job as a quartermaster for the Federation Navy. Of all his various girlfriends, John found that he easily preferred Justine above the rest. Even now her eyes showed concern that he was about to leave on a new mission. "... you've only been here for two days. And you're leaving so soon? How long will it be before I can see you again?"   
  
John sighed and put down his drink. Jodi's Bar and Grill was a dim, poorly-lit tavern, a heaven of information for a man involved in a questionably legal activity such as his. Justine liked the atmosphere. Business was, at the moment, in full swing. Situations like these made him comfortable; he blended in well, though his camoulflage was somewhat compromised by Justine, who was without doubt easily the most beautiful human female in the room. John didn't mind. "I can't tell you, remember? I wouldn't worry, though; just a quick and easy mission, and then I'll be back with - let's see, the commissar and I agreed on one hundred million credits."   
  
Justine's eyes shot skyward. "One hundred? That's a lot, even for someone of your caliber."   
  
John shrugged modestly. "It's not much compared to a whole planet - which is pretty much what we were bargaining over. I'm sorry, but I can't give more details until the mission's over." Justine nodded silently. She understood; she always understood. John sometimes found it a little more than uncanny. "Problem is, this time I'm working as part of a squad."   
  
"Coming out of your shell?" Justine teased.   
  
He chuckled. "If only. Actually, it's because - well, I can't say that, either."   
  
"So where are you going?"   
  
"Noriath. Ever heard of it? That's okay, most people haven't. It's an agricultural planet, one of those backwater hunks of rock that have no redeeming feature whatsoever other than their stunning scenery and the fact that the Federation's citizens would starve without their contribution. Noriath is special since it's populated entirely by humans - no other sentient species. If you ask me, that's a bad thing. But what do I know? Anyway, I'll be gone in sixteen standard hours. Did you see the big battlecruiser at the spaceport today? That's my ride."   
  
"Wow. They sure think this is important." She winked at him. "Maybe I'll get to come along, too."   
  
"You don't know what you're asking for; trust me, this sort of work is no glamor at all. Huh, I've never understood how bureaucrats think. Asking me to work on a team! Ah, well - could've done worse, I suppose. They've paired me up with good fellows. Tim McDalen's one of them; good man, an officer of the Galactic Navy's Praetor Squads. I remember fighting him a year ago on Serapa. Remember that story? Well, Tim was the shadow hunter that I kept referring to. I'd trust my back to him anyday. Let's see ... oh, yes, there's also Owen Custer, a fellow bounty hunter. Rumor has it that he's the biggest liar in this quadrant of the galaxy. If he's even a tenth as good as the stories say, then I'd be honored to fight alongside him, too." John laughed and downed a sizable portion of his bottle. "If."   
  
"So, a three-man army?" Justine laughed. "The Federation's sending a three-man army to take an entire planet?"   
  
"Well, there _is_ a fourth ..." John trailed off.   
  
"Hmm? Who?"   
  
"Samus Aran." John was no longer laughing or even smiling. He stared at the bottle of spirits. "You haven't heard of him, but he's quite famous in the bounty hunter world - a living legend. I've met him before. It's just ... well ... there's some bad blood between us." As he said the words, John's memory drifted away from Jodi's Bar and Grill, away to the past, two years ago on his home planet. Even now the events were imprinted into his mind as clearly as the day they had occurred. No way to forget them, or to forgive.   
  
_ "Move it, the train's coming!" Ronin yelled.   
  
Civilians, human and nonhuman alike, crowded around the refugee elevator. They had been trapped in a cave-in on an underground railroad, and their dirty, bedraggled appearance instantly convinced Ronin that any hope would be most welcome. But with the approach of a distinctive, high-pitched whistle that marked the coming of a bullet train, panic had set in. They were trapped straight on the tracks, and the train would surely run them over. For the thousandth time Ronin cursed the architect of the system for not placing the train under sentient guidance or at least installing an emergency stop. Light shone through the surface into the tunnel from thirty meters above. A makeshift elevator went a little more than five-sixths of the distance. Ronin's partner and best friend, Wraith, was already at ground level amongst the refugees, hoisting them up onto his shoulders where Ronin himself could reach down and pull them into the elevator. Ronin suppressed a shudder as the elevator creaked dangerously. The elevator was low enough to be clipped by the bullet train, which would kill everyone aboard. Then Ronin looked up and spotted a familiar figure.   
  
"Samus!" The figure's head jerked up at Ronin's call. "Pull up! Now!" In the background the whistle of the approaching train rang ominously. There were cries of hysteria from a few survivors left in the tunnel. The elevator shot up quickly, so quickly that Ronin nearly toppled over the edge. The survivors crowded out at ground level, many sobbing and tear-stained. "Quick!" Ronin cried to Samus. "There are still a few left down in that tunnel. Get me down there!"   
  
"It's too danger -" but the armored hunter abruptly cut off and merely hit the controls again, sending Ronin back into the tunnel. Ronin frantically reached down and took the last few survivors onto the elevator. By now the train was so close that its headlight nearly blinded him, and sweat poured down his uniform in rivers. "Hurry up, Wraith, you're the last one left!"   
  
Wraith leaped up, a leap that seemed to defy gravity, and very nearly reached Ronin's hand, falling short by a few centimeters. "Ah, blast it - Samus! Lower it as far as it'll go!" There was a slight pause as the train howled, and the elevator jerked but would go no further. "Samus! Take it down!" Ronin's plea echoed up the escape shaft. He was nearly staring into the bullet train. Again Wraith jumped, soaring up until his fingers grazed Ronin's hand. Ronin, by a superhuman effort, reached down further and caught his friend's wrist.   
  
Abruptly the elevator responded - by shooting upwards out of the tunnel and through the shaft, rudely breaking Ronin's grip and sending Wraith back down like a brick. Ronin's last view of Wraith burned itself into his memory; a defiant Wraith, shaking his fist at the train, daring it to do its worst. Then there was just the blur of metal moving by at half a thousand kilometers an hour and Wraith was gone. Ronin screamed as if he himself had been hit.   
  
The elevator reached level ground and the survivors spilled out. There was a brief pause as Ronin rammed his fist into the floor of the lift, hard; then a crunch of armored boots.   
  
"Blast you, Samus! I was right there!" Ronin shrieked in despair. Heads turned everywhere to stare at him, but he didn't care, as his grief and rage poured out of him in one mass torrent. "I nearly had his hand! Just a few more centimeters and he would've been here! How could you do this after all the lives he helped saved?" Furious, Ronin rammed his fist into the elevator's sides repeatedly and hard. "Why did you do this?! Why?!"   
  
"Some must die that others may live," Samus said coldly. _   
  
John stared into his bottle, suddenly realizing that he had spoken the story aloud. "I lost my best friend that day. I lost my happy-go-lucky self, too ... you wouldn't believe this, but I used to consider raising a family. If I'd just had a little more time ..." He sighed and emptied the bottle in one gulp. "Ah, Samus - I hunted him afterwards, but he was always a step ahead of me. Now, finally, this is my chance."   
  
He felt Justine's arms around his shoulders as she whispered into his ear. "That's so horrible, John ..."   
  
He gently pushed her arms aside. "Thank you, Justine." He leaned forward a little as she reseated herself across from him. "Don't go around talking about this, but - I happen to be one of the few people who knows Samus' secret. You see, I happen to know ..." here John glanced nervously from side to side before continuing "... that Samus is actually a woman."   
  
"Are you serious?!"   
  
"Heh, no kidding, I'm serious, I saw her without her helmet once, from behind." He had been so close that time - just half a second more quickly on the trigger finger ... "She's a woman alright. I call Samus 'him' out of habit, since very few people know what I do about Samus. Certainly she would never suspect me of knowing her little secret." John chuckled. "I wonder how many of Samus' fan nodes would implode if they discovered that. We bounty hunters tend to keep secrets to ourselves, though, and besides I want to have a bit of leveraging room when I run into her again." He snickered darkly. "I'm sorry; I tend to ramble sometimes. I have to go. The mission calls. I'll be back once I'm done, though. Here's enough money to cover the bill, and some more if you want to shop later. Ha, I'll be as rich as the pope by the time I finish." With that, he walked out of the bar, still preoccupied by various nightmarish memories.   
  
He breathed out deeply. "Wraith, my dear friend ... now I avenge you."   
  


* * *

Author's Note: To those of you who can already see the enormous plot twist coming up ... **DON'T SAY A WORD!** Thanks. 


	2. An Alliance Built out of Cards

**Chapter One: An Alliance Built out of Cards**   
  


* * *

**Author's Notes:** To those of you who are reading this story from the GameFAQs board, remember that the contest is still open. C'mon, people, you know you want Kejardon's money ...   
  
**Kefka Floyd:** I hope I don't disappoint your expectations with this new chapter.   
  
**Sharonlover:** See above comment. I don't know what else to say.   
  


* * *

_ Orpheus Five Spaceport, Planet Tr'kl'thos   
Fifteen hours have passed _   
  
"I was told that you'd be coming along on this mission." Tim McDalen stood at the top of the ramp leading into the _Star Shard_, arms crossed, unsmiling. He was a little short of two meters tall, with a broad chest, light brown hair, green eyes, and a dangerous look. John St-Varda had nearly met his end at McDalen's hands a year back on Serapa. For that matter, McDalen looked none too happy to see him. "You and Owen Custer and Samus Aran. But you most especially. It's been a long time, John."   
  
"Not nearly long enough, it seems," St-Varda replied. "I take it you haven't forgotten about Serapa."   
  
"Are you kidding?" McDalen asked coolly.   
  
"I take it you aren't about to trust me, shadow hunter," St-Varda said. After an uneasily silence, St-Varda chanced another remark. "I've always said that you were the best enemy I ever faced."   
  
McDalen's mouth crept up into a grin. "I'll bet." He laughed and beckoned St-Varda into the battlecruiser. Puzzled, the bounty hunter complied, his boots echoing sharply off the metallic paneling of the _Star Shard_'s ramp. He followed McDalen straight into the main deck of the battlecruiser. Voices drifted over from a large room in the side of the long corridor and there McDalen led St.-Varda. "Word of warning to the wise, John, Owen's in here and he's already going through his endless supply of fish tales."   
  
They walked into what was obviously the bar of the ship: a countertop with plenty of stools bolted into the deck, various tables with chess patterns painted atop them, and a number of chairs. It was a surprisingly large room and occupied by various members of the Federation military. At the center of the room a number of people clustered together around a man with a faded leather jacket and worn denim. In a word, it was Owen Custer - sandy hair, blue eyes, slim but powerful, with expansive, fluid movements. The one-sided conversation drifted over to where Tim and John chose to sit. "So the pirates sneak up on me from behind this time, and they had twice as many as the last assault. Well, here I am pinned down by the pirate crossfire and some hundreds of lives are dependent on my actions. I'm nearly spent on ammo, too. So I see them coming, and ..."   
  
Tim McDalen produced a wicked-looking knife from somewhere and made a stabbing motion at Owen's back. "The braggart. If he were anywhere as good as he claims to be, the Space Pirates would've been a memory long ago, eh, John?"   
  
"Can't disagree with that. Still, I heard that he's pretty good."   
  
"No argument there, he's just not as good as claims to be, though." Tim frowned profusely at Owen's back. "I'd watch him closely if I were you, John. He strikes me as somewhat undependable."   
  
"... of the rocks, and luckily some of the molten metal had cooled off on them. So I fire - bang - the bullet ricochets around -" this was accompanied by expansive hand motions "- and goes straight through several of the pirates. Well, I say to myself, great, eight ball in the side socket. The pirates don't say anything, but they do retreat awful quick. Heh, I almost feel sorry for them, having to go up against the Greatest."   
  
"Hmph, what arrogance, calling himself the Greatest," Tim observed dryly.   
  
"What's his real callsign?"   
  
"Lightwing, I believe. You bounty hunters and your ways of trying to sound cool." Tim made a motion with his hand and a plebe brought a pair of drinks for the two of them. "You, John - Ronin, what sort of name is that? An outcast, a warrior who has been disgraced by failure. Now what do you think someone like me would think if I heard that name?" Tim glanced over his shoulder at Owen. "He's quite effective as a girl magnet, I'll give him that. Probably what he does best."   
  
John said nothing, although he disliked Tim's ideas. Apparently the man was covered with a subtle layer of contempt for bounty hunters. He tilted his head back and took a deep gulp of his bottle's contents, then decided that it was slightly too strong for him. The Praetor continued as the two of them watched Owen's antics. "Now, take Samus Aran. He's a moody, mysterious fellow. And his name - you know what it means? It's Chozo, actually, and I believe it translates as Last Chance." John's ears perked up; he hadn't heard that one before. "Last Chance ... you bounty hunters are full of yourselves."   
  
"Look here, Praetor," John growled, "as far as I'm concerned, this is just another routine mission. I'll be more than glad when it's over with; I work alone."   
  
"Well, I do hope that you change your perspective awful quick, John. To you, missions like these are just a source of money, but to someone like me, this is a job that I take very seriously. You wouldn't even be here if the technicians hadn't screwed up earlier, and the last thing the Federation needs is someone on the squad who can't follow orders." Tim stared into John's eyes. "To me, you're just a loose gun, and I'd never trust you with anything this important, but that's not my decision. I take orders, I don't give them. And if you really want to finish this mission quickly, I suggest you learn to do the same. This is a _team_ mission."   
  
John sighed. "So that's it - you think I don't care. But do you think I'd have been involved on Serapa if that were the case?"   
  
Tim had no good reply to that. "You gave me a devil of a time back then, John," he mentioned, and then he lifted his bottle. "A toast - may you make life equally difficult for whatever is down on Noriath - and by that I don't mean myself." He and John drank. Then Tim silently rose and slipped away; John did not care.   
  
There was a heavy thud as Owen Custer fell into rather than sat down in a nearby chair. "What's up, John, I see you've already met Sour Grapes there. Pleased to meet you at last." They shook hands across the table and Owen tilted his head. "John ... St.-Varda, correct? I heard you were the second best bounty hunter in the galaxy."   
  
John snorted, but he was already beginning to feel a grudging like towards Owen. "Funny, I heard the same term applied to you, Owen. Say, what's your impression of Praetor McDalen there?"   
  
Owen shrugged. "He might come in handy as an apprentice someday if he weren't so stuck up." Owen winked hugely at John. "He seems to classify all bounty hunters as riffraff and I for one am in no hurry to dispel that notion. The day we arrive on Noriath, I plan to be dead drunk. What about you, John? I've heard some wild stories about you."   
  
"Well, I met the Praetor a year ago on Serapa, and ... let's just say that our mission objectives did not exactly coincide. He -"   
  
"Eh? He what?" Owen leaned in, but John was no longer listening. He stood up so abruptly that Owen nearly fell out of his chair. John did't care; he had seen _her_, and he crossed the room in forceful strides. "Justine?!" he hissed when he was in earshot, and she looked up quickly. "What are _you_ doing here?"   
  
She smiled sweetly, like a cat that had just caught a mouse. "Didn't I say that I might be coming along on this mission?"   
  
"But -" John sputtered. "I thought - I thought you were just joking!" His head reeled. Suddenly, the world seemed different; here was his girlfriend, calmly discussing a potentially lethal mission as though it were an everyday event. Behind him, Owen Custer was singing a rowdy song about a poor pilgrim who had lost everything in a risky gamble; his voice sounded like sandpaper grazing steel. John grabbed on to the edges of the table in an attempt to orient himself. "Justine. This is a _dangerous_ mission. I know for a fact that the supply commissars are not required to attend such missions. Just what do you think you're doing?"   
  
"Don't treat me like a little girl," she said, standing up. "I came to see you, really. And relax, for stars' sake! I'll only be aboard until the battlecruiser reaches Sagittarius Station, and I want to enjoy your company until then."   
  
"Oh. I must be drunk," John mumbled, "this can't be happening. Fine. Whatever you want; but I'd better not catch you aboard after we reach Sagittarius Station!" Dimly he realized that Owen had stopped singing. A moment later, the bounty hunter in question had appeared by the two. Justine waved. "Hi."   
  
"Hey there, hotrod. John, aren't you going to introduce me?"   
  
"Not if I can help it!" John half-exclaimed. Owen rolled his eyes and extended a hand. "Owen Custer, bounty hunter, callsign Lightwing but more commonly known as the Greatest. Pleased to meet you."   
  
"Justine Lee." They shook hands, much to John's discomfort. Trying to change the subject, he asked, "When does the cruiser launch?"   
  
Owen consulted the chronometer on his wrist. "Right about now." Sure enough, a moment later the deck lurched slightly before stabilizing itself and the battlecruiser was soaring. Justine winked at John. "I made sure that your quarters are right next to mine, John, on the dormitory deck. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have matters that I must attend to. I'll see you later when I can." So saying, she headed for the next door.   
  
"Your girlfriend, huh?" Owen asked. He gave a low whistle of appreciation. "Never seen anyone that stunning before. You're a lucky man, John St.-Varda, to know someone like her. Say ... if you died on this mission, would she get along with me?"   
  
"Shut up," John growled, and Owen grinned cheekily.   
  


* * *

_ En route to Sagittarius Station   
Six hours have passed _   
  
John's room, as he had very rapidly discovered, was more like a prison. It was small, low, and depressingly uniform, everything having been layered in a dull gray color lit by the light of an old-fashioned incandescent light bulb. The bunk took up the entire far side of the room and was enough to accommodate his frame with one meter to spare. He had shoved his belongings under the bunk earlier. Luckily he hadn't drank enough to give himself a hangover. He sat up in bed as a soft knock came on the door. "Come in!" For some reason, he was still groggy from sleep.   
  
Justine opened the door and slid in like a phantom, dropping a big bag to the floor where it made a dull clunk. "Hello, John, I finally have some time off. I came to tell you, the preliminary mission briefing is in a couple of minutes. The captain is conducting the briefing on the bridge."   
  
"Okay." John crawled out of his bunk - as a bounty hunter, he had acquired the habit of always sleeping fully dressed, just in case - and peered in the nearest mirror before realizing that there wasn't one. "Do I look acceptable, Justine?"   
  
She began smoothing his hair into place. "You need to shave; did you bring a razor?"   
  
"Oops," he mumbled, but luckily she produced one from her bag. John visited the head and returned a few more minutes later feeling far more human. Slipping into his boots, he straightened out his uniform. "Better, I suppose?"   
  
"Much. C'mon, let's go." They went out into the hall together and John inhaled deeply. Justine pointed down the hall. "The elevator's that way. We'll be late if we walk. For that matter, we may be late regardless." Various Federation personnel passed in and out among the many doors of the long corridor. Justine apparently knew a few of them. She rushed a bit as an elevator door began to close, but then the doors slid open again and the two of them entered into it. John skidded to a halt as the elevator began to rise, at last realizing exactly who else was inside besides the two of them. "You."   
  
"We meet again, Ronin," Samus Aran said humorlessly. Because of the helmet, John could not read her expression. Apparently the helmet also contained a voice modulator, because the words came out in a dull, metallic sound that nevertheless did nothing to inhibit tone. Vaguely John was aware of Justine at his side staring curiously into Samus' visor. In the suit, Samus was taller than either of them. John found himself reaching for a handgun that was not present.   
  
They eyed each other grimly for the entire ride in the elevator while Justine glanced uneasily back and forth. Samus' signature arm cannon was missing. When the elevator rang, Samus stepped out without a word; John would have followed, but Justine indicated that their destination was further up and the elevator doors closed again. John let out his breath in a long exhalation. "Samus ... it's been almost a year ... still brings back so many memories, though."   
  
"A whole year and you still haven't given up on the chase."   
  
"Nor do I intend to." But at that moment John thought of something Tim McDalen said earlier: _This is a team mission._ The thought made his stomach rebel against his brain. "Still ... this is a team mission," John said, but it came out doubtfully, as though by chanting it he could convince himself not to kill Samus. The elevator rang again.   
  
Justine stepped out. "I have to get off here; this briefing is for the military only. But I'll see you again some time later, alright?"   
  
"Sure. I'll be waiting at the bar once we finish. Love you, Justine." They exchanged a quick kiss. John waved as the elevator doors closed again and the elevator rose for the final leg of the trip upwards. It was a short ride; he stepped out onto the bridge of the ship and glanced around. It was an enormous room, considerably less lit than the bright corridors deeper in the ship, and filled to the brim with a variety of consoles, buttons, and flashing machinery. The bridge itself was separated into two levels, with the upper level accessed by various ramps and consisting of a number of catwalks along the bulkheads of the room. A large glass viewscreen took up much of the front of the bridge. The captain and most of the men were already assembled there on makeshift seating; John thought he saw Owen Custer next to Tim McDalen in the front. He chose a seat near the sides and slid into it.   
  
A variety of Federation personnel were present. From the uniforms and insignia, John saw that several of them were highly decorated veterans, apparently hard as steel. All present carried the look of experience gained solely through surviving various battles. _The commissar wasn't kidding,_ he thought to himself, _this mission truly is priority one._ There were no alien species amongst the military personnel; the Federation was uncomfortable with the idea of aliens amongst its military, though occasionally it employed them as bounty hunters. Blasted racists.   
  
Samus appeared through another door and quietly slid into a seat. John glanced at her and noted that she returned his look; a moment later, the captain cleared his throat. "Attention, please." The quiet murmuring amongst the personnel instantly subsided. "Thank you. Now, as you all know, the technical crew sent to Noriath mysteriously disappeared some time ago. Military scouts from Sagittarius Station were sent to raise the _Herald's Path_ and were unsuccessful. Now, watch; these images arrived recently from the station." The captain palmed a control and a hologram was layered over the big glass viewport of the bridge. It coalesced into near opaquity and the captain continued as the image focused. It was a top-down shot of Sa'is Da'ar and it clearly showed the city's main spaceports, large concrete structures open to the air. "These are orbital images taken from a reconnaissance ship. The landing site of the _Herald's Path_ has been highlighted. Now, if I zoom in ..." here he hit another button, "... you will all notice something very strange."   
  
John saw it immediately, even before the captain mentioned it. "That, gentlemen, is the ship in question. And as you can all see, it has been overgrown by some strange sort of plant. As has the entire city, for that matter." The image zoomed out and John saw that, indeed, the entire city looked as if it had been overrun by some sort of plant infestation. The captain continued, "The images that you see here are actually generated by computer; when the scout ships arrived, there was a thick fog over Sa'is Da'ar and they had to scan the surface via penetrating waveforms. One of the ships performed spectroscopy analysis on the fog and the result surprised everyone; it is actually a blanket of sleeping gas, a form to which humans show particular vulnerability. Therefore, the mission objectives have changed.   
  
"Federation command has split this mission into multiple parts. You will be fully briefed at Sagittarius Station; for now, I am authorized only to say that the station has very little information to give you beyond what we have here. There are analysts currently examining the situation. The Federation prefers not to send in a full-scale invasion force to Noriath, which is why it is relying on you. Are there any questions?"   
  
"About the plants, sir," Tim McDalen said. "What exactly are they?"   
  
The captain shook his head. "Unknown at the moment. Sagittarius Station may know, but if so, I haven't been told. Any other questions?"   
  
"Yes." This one came from a Federation commando. "Captain, were any hostile landings detected across the planet? Or any Space Pirate activity?"   
  
"Sagittarius Station is currently investigating that possibility, which is so far negative. They have a battlecruiser stationed above Noriath with two fighter complements. But no unusual activity was detected at all before Sa'is Da'ar went offline. Are there any other questions?"   
  
There were none. The Federation personnel filed away in ones and twos, muttering to themselves or each other, but all in low breaths. Tim bent deep in discussion with some of his fellow officers. From his seat, John sighed, slightly exasperated. So, this was a case of an agricultural planet producing a fertilizer that had exceeded all expectations. What sort of idiots had made this a priority one mission? And to think that he had been worried half to death about Justine. What a waste of his time - almost. John caught up to Samus before she could slip away. "Samus." She turned around and crossed her arms.   
  
"Just know that I have my sights on you, Samus. When this mission is over, I will kill you." 


	3. Greeting a Hostile World

**Greeting a Hostile World**   
  


* * *

**Author's Notes:** I apologize for waiting so long before updating. Those of you at GameFAQs doubtlessly know why. For the rest of us, the reason is that I was virtually expelled from college and so I've had my hands full for the past week. Without going into too much detail, I was attacked and did a few things not justifiable by self-defense. (Pretty much I tore my assailant's sides into shreds and bled him dry.) Now I'm looking at criminal charges ... anyway, in a nutshell, this is the mess I'm in. Expect updates to be rather few and far between.   
  
**Sharonlover:** No, I wasn't picking on you. I usually take the time to address my reviewers, here or otherwise, in my notes. I figure I owe them that much courtesy at the very least.   
  
**Insomniac by Choice:** More and more I'm beginning to understand what you mean by letting the story write itself. Or maybe I just have a case of writer's block. Let's hope not.   
  
**MegaSamusX:** Thanks for the review, but would you please be a little bit more specific? I need to know exactly what I've done right and where I can improve. Thanks.   
  


* * *

_ Docking Bay, Sagittarius Station   
Twenty-two standard days have passed _   
  
"Have you ever seen anything this size before?" John asked Justine. The battlecruiser _Star Shard_ had docked on one of Sagittarius Station's rotating platforms two hours ago, but John and Justine were only now preparing to disembark. Most of the battlecruiser's personnel had already descended into the station. Sagittarius Station itself was made entirely out of a dull metal that reflected half of the light on it. It took the shape of a long, upright cylinder some hundred and twenty kilometers in length with a ten-kilometer radius. Four gigantic platforms, triangular in shape, were attached to the station's middle, each one spreading nearly a fifty kilometers away from the station. The station was marred on the surface by various viewports, communications arrays, and other necessities. It was also bristling with laser cannons and warhead launchers, both of which showed an especially heavy concentration near the narrowed top of the station. Each platform held twenty fighter complements and could dock a full fleet of battlecruisers. Compared to the station, the _Star Shard_ was positively miniscule.   
  
"Can't say I have," Justine replied. Each of the rotating platform was nearly two kilometers thick; there was supposed to be a complex transportation system contained within each. John and Justine headed for the docking ramp, which led to a port where they could enter one of the platforms. Unlike the _Star Shard,_ which generated gravity via several mass simulators, Sagittarius Station produced its gravity by its slow, steady rotation. It certainly felt more comfortable to the feet than the battlecruiser's artificial gravity. John and Justine strode down the ramp and headed straight for the automated lifts. Their nonessential luggage would stay on the battlecruiser. According to Justine, the _Star Shard_ was staying for three days in order to resupply. Then it would just be a short two day warp jump from the station to Noriath, or so John heard.   
  
Justine explained the arrangements as the lift took them inwards to the center of the station. "You'll be berthed in the barracks, which is located a little beneath these platforms at the station center. I can't join you there, unfortunately, since I have to stay here and help oversee the resupply of the battlecruiser, but you're free to come down here and visit if you'd like. Your room is F-R-2377; I sent your personal belongings ahead into the room. I hope you enjoy your time here, John."   
  
"You too, Justine." The lift stopped and Justine stepped out, pausing only to exchange a quick kiss with John before heading to her own quarters. John leaned back and the lift continued down the tunnel. Somehow, _any_ place seemed empty without Justine in it. He passed time by whistling to himself until the lift stopped at the center of the station. John got out and looked around.   
  
The room in which he found himself was not very high but it was very wide. Elevators lined the outer bulkheads; further inside, stairways provided manual access from floor to floor. John estimated that the ceiling was about five meters above his head. The entire room was well-lit by fluorescent panels built into the ceilings. The floor was lined by stainless steel. John found a computerized map near the lift and spent half an hour committing the entire plan of the station into his mind. There were no viewscreens that provided any look into outer space; John was strangely glad of that, for some reason.   
  
When John arrived at his designated room, he discovered it clean, well-lit, and spacious, easily large enough to comfortably accomodate two people. He also discovered something else not entirely to his liking. "I'm sharing this place with _you?_" he half-groaned.   
  
Owen Custer laid down a magazine and neatly backflipped over his chair in one fluid motion, landing softly on his feet. "Yep! Count yourself lucky, John; most of these rooms hold four people, or more. Hey, next time you see Justine, be sure to thank her for making these arrangements for us, alright?"   
  
John exaggerated a heavy sigh of strained patience. "Very well," he muttered, as though Owen were asking a tremendous favor. "You'd better not snore."   
  
"I haven't since I was eight," Owen said, grinning. "Though I could start again if you'd prefer." John declined with as much politeness as he could muster. "So, John, what're you planning to do while we're on vacation?"   
  
"Some vacation. Hang out with Justine, I suppose. You?" John asked, not that he was interested.   
  
"I was mining you for ideas since I haven't really thought about it." Owen tilted his head to one side. "I looked at the statistics on our way here. There are 24,000 personnel aboard this station, 800 pilots, and 3000 battlecruiser crew members. Of those, approximately 38.4% are human females. I say the chances are looking good for me."   
  
"Do whatever you want, Owen, but Justine's off limits."   
  
"Hey hey hey, why don't you let the lady decide?"   
  
"I believe that she chose _me,_" John coolly pointed out.   
  
"Well, women tend to change their minds quickly and often -"   
  
"In your dreams."   
  
Owen sat upright on his bunk. "Say, John, on a more serious note ... what do you think has been going on with Noriath?"   
  
John frowned. "I wish I knew. It looks like a case of too much fertilizer and not enough gardeners, if it weren't for the sleeping gas. Whatever it is, I don't like it. Just ... how do I say it?"   
  
"Too many things unexplained?"   
  
"Yeah, exactly." John looked up at Owen. "I've never taken a mission that dealt with an entire planet. The closest time was ... Serapa, maybe. At first I was under the impression that this was just a simple technical failure. I'm not so sure anymore."   
  
Owen nodded. "It'll be alright, just do the job, that sort of thing. Why, there was this one time I had to defuse an antimatter warhead before the magnetic shields around it collapsed. If I'd been two seconds slower we wouldn't have a Libra quadrant today."   
  
In his mind, John weighed the loss of the Libra quadrant against the benefit of being rid of Owen. A pretty even trade, actually. "Oh, really? Or is this another legendary Custer tall tale?"   
  
"I'll tell you more about that particular mission later," Owen promised, not in the least offended by John's manner. "In the meantime, though, we're supposed to meet at the bridge for a full briefing in one standard hour; we're gonna be late if we don't hurry. C'mon, last one to the elevator is space bait." John won that particular race by a hairbreadth.   
  
While the elevator was ascending for the long crawl towards the bridge, Owen asked, "Say, do you suppose that I could find a girlfriend or two on the station?"   
  
"Why would you need two? And didn't you already charm someone on the battlecruiser?"   
  
"Yeah, but I figure it's okay so long as they don't find out about each other."   
  
John snorted. "That's a cynical, if interesting, way of looking at things. Did you hear the story of how Armstrong Houston's girlfriend -"   
  
"Don't remind me," Owen said, wincing. "What happened to Armstrong is my personal nightmare. Still, it was good for shutting him up about how he'd never met his match before. Anyway, I'm not afraid of that sort of thing occurring here. I mean, c'mon, a station of this size with 27,800 people? What are the chances of two - or three or four - girlfriends suddenly running into each other and sharing their experiences?"   
  
"You sure are ambitious," John noted. "What do you want to do with your life, Owen?"   
  
"Me?" Owen seemed genuinely taken aback at first. "Well, I want to be rich and alive, of course. Though that isn't why I became a bounty hunter. Actually, it goes back farther than that, much farther." He sighed, a sigh conveying a deep, heartfelt tone of loss and regret. "My father was a harsh man and a heavy drinker. When I was twelve, he ... I dunno, he just ... _lost it_ one night while drunk ... and beat my mother and me. My mother didn't survive for very long. When she died, in that hospital bed, I just ... I simply snapped. I'd lost the one person precious to me. The thought of what my father had done ... it was just too much. I must have gone wild; I don't remember exactly what happened after my mother said her last words, but the next time I was conscious, I was standing over my father's corpse, covered in blood. None of it was my own. As you can imagine, I had to run from the authorities, so I took on a new identity. Owen Custer isn't my real name. I doubt anyone knows who I really am - heck, sometimes even I forget, especially when I'm getting drunk. Which, come to think of it, sounds like a really good idea; how about a drink after the briefing?"   
  
John St.-Varda wasn't quite sure what to make of Owen's story; fortunately, the quiet hiss of the elevator doors sliding open kept him from having to say anything. The bridge deck of the station was absolutely enormous, like a giant version of the battlecruiser's bridge. Only that here the viewscreen spanned the entire circumference of the floor. The meeting was obviously being held in the very center of the bridge, which measured a good kilometer in diameter. John and Owen scrambled to their seats; nearly everyone else, including Samus Aran and Tim McDalen, were already present.   
  
After a few more minutes, an officer stood up and walked to the front of the assembled personnel. "My name is Colonel Stanton Graylan, and I will be your commander for this mission. Headquarters has decided to go ahead with the mission, so I'll outline it for you here." A large holographic display materialized in front of the personnel and Colonel Graylan stepped around it. "This is a schematic of Sa'is Da'ar, the latest from the fleet camped around it. The battle fleet is needed elsewhere, so we will be going to relieve them. As you can see, the city sprawls nearly ten kilometers in every direction. We happen to be interested in its spaceport and telecommunications center, which are located near the center of the city. Now," he punched a switch on his remote control, "take a topographical view."   
  
Tim McDalen winced. "Looks like it's been completely overgrown by those strange plants." He glanced up at the colonel. "Sir, there aren't illegal experiments going on that we shouldn't know about ... are there?"   
  
Graylan sighed. "Officially, I can neither confirm nor deny the rumors, but the answer is no. At least, none that the Federation knows of. HQ is quite perplexed about this one. Our scouts around Noriath have identified multiple sources around the city which are emitting sleeping gas." The view of Sa'is Da'ar faded out and was replaced by a skeletal hologram. "Part of this mission involves sending a team of scientists down there to take a sample and a military escort to neutralize each of the gas fountains. However, the main objective cannot wait, and it remains the recovery of Sa'is Da'ar's main communications outlet."   
  
The map zoomed in on a large structure next to the spaceport, some thirty stories tall. "This is the communications building. As you can see, it is directly attached to the spaceport and the large radar dish built into its roof provides the main means of communications from Noriath. The communications array is powered by four separate power stations located around Sa'is Da'ar; failure of any one of them knocks it out." Colonel Graylan highlighted the four power stations on the Sa'is Da'ar city plan. "As you can see, all four of them have been overgrown. Energy readings for the buildings are all negative. The main mission is as follows: you will divide into four separate teams. Each team will consist of two military squads as escorts, one technical squad, and one bounty hunter - or, in officer McDalen's case, one Praetor.   
  
"Your assignments are as follows: Squads A and E, Praetor McDalen, and Technical Squad A are assigned to Team Alpha. Your objective is the northeast power plant. You will land outside the city somewhat north of the plant. Get it restarted and hold it.   
  
"Squads B and F, Owen Custer, and Technical Squad B are assigned to Team Beta. Your objective is the north power plant and you will land directly north of it. Restart the plant and defend it.   
  
"Squads C and G, John St.-Varda, and Technical Squad C are assigned to Team Gamma. Your objective is the southeast power plant, and you will land directly east of it. Get to the power plant, restart it, and defend it."   
  
"Squads D and H, Samus Aran, and Technical Squad D are assigned to Team Delta. Your objective is the southwest power plant, and you will land south of it. Reactivate the plant and defend it.   
  
"Once all four power plants are active and secured, all four teams are to converge on the communications center and all transport ferries are to return to the _Star Shard_. When the communications array has been restarted, one squad from each team will stay behind to guard it. The remainder of the teams are to return to the Sa'is Da'ar main spaceport; your evacuation will be there once communications are back online.   
  
"Team Omega will be landing on the Sa'is Da'ar spaceport at approximately the same time the other four teams land around the city. I will accompany Team Omega in order to direct the mission on the ground. One squad will stay behind to secure the spaceport; the other three will fan out, establish a defensive perimeter, and clear out the communications center if anything is in it. Also, they will be searching for survivors. Two additional squads will on standby in the _Star Shard_ if further reinforcements are necessary. The _Star Shard_ will also have two fighter complements on standby should aerial support be required. Remember, your primary objective is to get the communications array back online. Don't put the technical crews in jeopardy. Once the array is functioning again, the Federation will send a full-scale military task force to rebuild Sa'is Da'ar. Any questions?"   
  
"I have one, sir," McDalen spoke up. "What if the power plants have been destroyed entirely and it's not just a technical problem? What should we do then?"   
  
"Return to the spaceport," Graylan replied. "There, the team leader will report directly to me. We haven't neglected that possibility, though; headquarters gives it a twelve percent estimate."   
  
"Sir." This time, the question was from a member of the technical crew. "Exactly what plant has overgrown the city?"   
  
Graylan shook his head slowly. "Headquarters did some orbital analysis without finding anything significant, so we still don't know. The scientists have orders to bring some samples back for analysis. Headquarters will be most interested in hearing what they have to say."   
  
Silence.   
  
"Dismissed." Graylan strode away; John and Owen looked at each other. "Seems pretty straightforward," Owen said. "Still, there's something I don't like about this mission."   
  
"Yeah ... too many things left unexplained," John commented. "You get the feeling it's not just a simple case of plant infestation."   
  
"Well, I prefer to let the Federation worry about that. I'm just doing this mission for the money." Owen yawned. "I could use a good drink right now. What about you, John? Care to join me down at the crew lounge? I'll pay for the drinks."   
  
John debated whether or not to go. "Sounds interesting," he said at last. "Sure, let's go."   
  
Half an hour later, Owen sidled up to the bar and invited John. "Here, try this." He poured himself a shot of the bottle's contents and handed the rest of the bottle to John. There was a pause as he tilted his head back and forced his drink down. "Ahh ... yes, that was good ..."   
  
"What is this stuff, anyway?" John asked.   
  
"Heh heh heh ... it's a specialty from Mandragora. They call it Exploda."   
  
"Exploda? Sounds like my kind of drink." John poured himself a small glass and tried to take it down in one gulp as Owen had done. Unfortunately, his throat quickly rebelled and the contents of his mouth ended up all over the counter. "Good stuff, eh?" Owen asked.   
  
"Son of a - you could power a battlecruiser with this stuff." John shook his head clear. "That's enough, thank you; I'm not a heavy drinker."   
  
"Excuses, excuses," Owen ribbed, grinning. Then he looked over John's head. "Hey, Justine, try some of this?"   
  
"No, thanks," she said, sliding into the seat next to John's. "I'm not a drinker."   
  
"It's a carbonated beverage," Owen promised, the expression on his face saying _trust me_.   
  
"Don't believe him," John warned. "Justine, what're you doing up here so soon? Didn't you have some supplies to see to? Not that I'm complaining or anything," he added hastily.   
  
She smiled. "The crew finished early, so I'm just kicking back and relaxing. Owen, how'd you get involved in this dirty business?"   
  
Owen shook his head. "It's not a pretty story. I told John earlier; ask him if you really want to know." He paused for a moment. "Say, John, I told you why I'm a bounty hunter, now why don't you tell me your story?"   
  
"Yeah, sure." John stared into the bottle of Exploda for a moment before he continued. "Actually, I never went through any life-shattering experiences - at least none before I became a bounty hunter. You see, I was raised in a poor family in the Gigas quadrant, but I always had a talent for ... well, getting into trouble. That more than anything made me decide to be a bounty hunter, that and the fact that my family wasn't exactly well off. It's been a long time; I started when I was in my late teens, and I've been at this sort of work for nearly fifteen years.   
  
"Ten years ago, during the course of a mission I met my best friend Nathan Peters, better known in the bounty hunters' world as 'Wraith.' You've heard of him, haven't you? Wraith and I were like brothers; we trusted each other implicitly. He knew that I'd always have his back covered and I knew that he'd always have my back covered. We took every mission together for eight years. But then ... Samus Aran murdered Wraith." John stared into his cup, forcing back his memories to the surface. "It was just a freak accident, really, and we weren't even supposed to be involved, but we just happened to be there. So we did something really stupid in hindsight; we tried to rescue the victims of a tunnel collapse before the bullet train could arrive and run them all over. Samus operated the escape elevator. And then, when Wraith and I had gotten everyone out, Samus just - _left_ - him in the tunnel. Wraith was killed by the bullet train. That's why Samus and I don't exactly ... get along well.   
  
"Ever since then, I've always hunted alone."   
  
"Wow," Owen half-whistled, "what a story. Must be terrible to live with those sort of memories, huh?"   
  
John shook his head clear. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said all that -"   
  
"Nonsense," Justine interrupted, "it helps to be able to talk things out. Owen and I don't mind - right, Owen?" Owen caught Justine's wink and quickly nodded in agreement.   
  
"Thanks, Justine. You understand; you always do." John put his glass down. "How ironic, isn't it? For this mission I'm going to be paired up with Samus Aran. After two years of constantly hunting him, finally he's in my reach." Catching the expression on Owen's face, John quickly added, "Don't get me wrong, Owen, I don't intend to kill him on the mission. The mission always comes before everything else."   
  
"Tim McDalen's motto," Owen muttered. "Well, John, however you intend to kill Samus, I wish you luck, 'cause frankly I think you're no match for him. But that's just me. If you _do_ manage to pull it off, at least you'll have undeniable bragging rights. Still, I think we're boring Justine with this sort of talk."   
  
"Not at all," Justine responded smoothly. "Say, do either of you know any female bounty hunters?"   
  
John and Owen traded a look. "Hmm, let's see," Owen mumbled, scanning through his memory. "Who is it ... her callsign's Angel ... she's an SX class hunter. No other woman even comes close."   
  
"SX ...?"   
  
"Bounty hunters are divided into classes by their efficiency," John explained. "Lowest is C, then you go up through B, A, AA, S, SA, and SX at the top. Not many SXs, I think they number in the double digits. Low double digits." He winked at Justine. "I happen to be rated SX and Tim McDalen would easily fit up there, too. Samus is also SX. Owen ... I'm not so sure of."   
  
"I'm in a class by myself," Owen boasted good-naturedly.   
  
"Oh, really," John retorted. "I didn't know there was anything below C."   
  
"That's where you belong," Owen replied, grinning. "Actually, I'm also SX. There's even an official document floating around which proves it, but good luck finding it."   
  
"Wow, four top-of-the-line hunters, huh?" Justine asked. "This mission must be awfully important."   
  
"Actually, Owen and I were talking about that possibility," John said soberly. "You think there's something the Federation's not telling us? I get the feeling that headquarters knows a lot more than it's willing to say. I mean, just listen to the recording that they have of the technical crew."   
  
Owen frowned. "Recording? What recording?"   
  
"You know, the one where the first mate is making his report and suddenly cuts off, and then you hear some firing go on -"   
  
"Can't say I've listened to or even heard of such a recording, John," Owen said.   
  
Taken aback, John could only stammer, "What? But the commissar played it for me and ..."   
  
"There's something fishy going on here," Owen declared. "Can you find that recording for me, please?"   
  
"I couldn't, but Justine might be able to."   
  
Justine shook her head. "Don't count on it. Something like that would probably be at least Level-5 classified already, which means that there are no free copies circulating anywhere. This mission is priority one, so anything relating to it would be heavily classified."   
  
"Didn't think of that," John said. "Hmm ... well, don't worry about it. Just bring some firepower along."   
  
"Firepower? That's my middle name."   
  
"John ..."   
  
"It'll be alright, Justine. Owen and I both know what we're doing. At least, I think he does." John stood up. "Excuse me for a moment, will you? Where's the nearest head?" Justine pointed in a direction and John walked away.   
  
Justine was alone when he returned. "Eh? Where's Owen? I thought he'd be making a pass at you."   
  
Justine laughed. "He tried. I said that I was taken, and up he goes without a word. Look, he's over there now." She indicated a table where Owen was vividly waving his arms, doubtlessly recreating a mission to make it look more dangerous than it actually had been. "I watched him while we were aboard the battlecruiser. Owen's a favorite with the girls, as well as being a decent storyteller." She caught John's look. "Don't underestimate him, John, just because he's showy. He's every bit as dangerous as you."   
  
"I'll remember that," John promised.   
  
John passed the remaining days on Sagittarius in comparative idleness, seeing Justine only on occasion, developing a strange sort of respect for Owen Custer, and at times drilling with Tim McDalen and the Federation squads. The three days were up all too quickly and John found himself on the base of the ramp leading up into the _Star Shard_. "This is where we part, at least for now," he said to Justine.   
  
"Stay safe, John, and come back in one piece." Her eyes were filled with concern for him.   
  
"Yeah, I will. Take care."   
  
"You too." They kissed, a long kiss that stretched on until Tim McDalen yelled at John to board the 'cruiser or risk being left behind. John and Justine parted; slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder, he strode up the ramp in heavy steps, his boots echoing oddly off the steel ramp. At the top he paused and turned around to wave, but she was no longer there. A moment later the ramp closed and the _Star Shard's_ powerful engines came to life. Confused, John simply stood there for an instant; the ship lurched and threw him off his feet, sliding down the deck in an undignified heap. He crashed against something unyielding and looked up just in time to see Owen Custer. Owen split his sides laughing.   
  
"Oh stuff it," John muttered, picking himself up and dusting himself off. "You're just jealous that you don't have a girlfriend."   
  
"On the contrary," Owen corrected him, "I have many. I am a strong believer in the need to maintain connections wherever I go." John groaned. Owen waved him down the corridor. "C'mon; your girlfriend got you a better room this time, and you have it to yourself, lucky dog. You better treat her real well, you hear? Not every day that a girl like that comes along."   
  
"Yeah, that's true. A room to myself, how nice. I think I'll crash for a couple of weeks."   
  
Two days later, the _Star Shard_ gently settled into orbit around Noriath. John woke up just in time to hear the blast of rocket engines indicating another fleet speeding off towards Sagittarius Station. He glanced at his chronometer; it was time. John heaved himself out of bed and began to suit up. First was his headgear. A headband went around his forehead, one small eyescope lowering itself over his left eye. This left his other eye free. He'd been issued a gas mask earlier, one of those cutting-edge designs that weighed about two grams. This he sealed over his nose, mouth, and chin. Next he donned his utility belt, a belt that held his communications gear and several spare clips of ammunition. After that, the boots went on his legs, each one protected by a thin layer of steel in front and fitting tightly against his legs. Finally, the body armor: a breastplate went over his chest, the epaulets resting lightly on his shoulders. It was firm but not tight; John slid the side straps into each other and pulled the armor up against his shirt. He picked up his rifle, a C-228 Crystal Rifle that he'd heavily modified over the years. It was long and slim, an elegant and deadly weapon with up to two magazines attachable above the trigger mechanism. Two red stripes were painted diagonally down the barrel. His outfit complete, John went out of the room and headed for the transport bay.   
  
Tim McDalen was there, dressed in the standard uniform of a Federation Praetor. So was Samus Aran in her distinctive armored suit. A moment later, Owen Custer came rushing down a passageway, nearly colliding with John. His outfit was a mixture of a cowboy look and various high-tech weaponry. Tim indicated each hunter's assignment and they filed away wordlessly. John's transport was located on the far side of the deck. He crossed it in long, purposeful strides and slipped into the ship.   
  
Wordlessly John found a seat amongst the military personnel and shouldered his weapon. Each soldier had the look of a veteran who had seen it all. Silence reigned, at least until the transport's rocket engines roared and they were off in space. Both sides of the transport had viewports and John glanced outside the directly opposite him. There were quiet conversations; no one bothered to talk to John. He sat back and tried to relax, a dark shape in a corner with no name. The team commander stood and began to talk about their mission. Not really paying attention, John only caught snippits of the briefing. "... and ... the power station ... in three standard hours ... at all costs ..."   
  
The officer completed the briefing. John focused his eyes on the viewscreen as a turn of the transport brought Noriath into view. He hadn't realized that it was so close; they must already be well within the atmosphere. "Beautiful, isn't it?" a soldier whispered to him. Outside, a Federation fighter banked over the transport, obscuring the view for a moment.   
  
John stared. "Yeah, it is. I've seen pictures before, but ... yeah, beautiful."   
  
"I've never seen a planet like this before," the soldier continued. "I've spent nearly my whole life on an industrial planet. So, this is what it looks like up close. Noriath. Beautiful. Makes you wish that all our planets look like it, doesn't it?"   
  
A blast of retrorockets prevented John from replying. He breathed in deeply, exhaled slowly. It was time to be professional. _This is it._


	4. First Encounter

**First Encounter**   
  


* * *

**Author's Notes:** Sorry for the delays, my Street Fighter fanfiction project has been taking up all of my time and efforts so far. I figured I should put this out before the fans cut my head off. Also, the previous section was revised to correct a rather glaring error (I used Squad D twice - ouch). Anyway, here is the next chapter, featuring an abrupt quickening in pace. Expect the story to become progressively darker as it goes on.   
  
**Penterghast:** Thanks for the encouragement, I will continue writing!   
  
**Dither Binky:** I didn't kill anyone, fortunately. As to this being like a good sci-fi series - eh, I really can't claim that honor. I was inspired by the writer Insomniac by Choice, who also posts here. If you want to see a _really_ good story, read his.   
  
**MegaSamusX:** It's actually kinda funny watching you run around trying to guess the plot twist. I'm tempted to spoil it for you right here, but no ... must not reveal it ... I only pray that you'll like it since - well, can't say that, either, without giving it away. Sorry, I'm being sadistic here. Be patient, time will tell.   
  
**Cauchys Inequality:** Thanks for pointing out that mistake, dunno how I missed it during the proofread. Note to self: must get more sleep.   
  
**Timaster:** You had me in a panic, scrambling to check if the chapter was actually posted. And what's with extorting answers from Kejardon? Bad Timaster ... anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.   
  


* * *

_ Somewhere east of Sa'is Da'ar, Noriath   
Half a minute has passed _   
  
With a hiss of releasing steam, the transport's docking ramp slid open and the soldiers piled out, weapons ready. John St.-Varda, sweeping his head around, scanned the terrain with a practiced eye. Noriath was a beautiful planet, awash with brilliant colors. The sky was a pure azure, the grass swayed gently in the calm winds, and as John looked down he realized that he had stepped on a flower. They had landed on the edge of what looked like a wheatfield. A farm stood half a kilometer away, easily visible over the golden heads of grain; a thermal scan showed no signs of life. Overhead, the transport's fighter escort made one last flyby before soaring off into space. The _Star Shard_ had settled into progressive orbit and disappeared around the horizon long ago.   
  
John glanced around. Each soldier was dressed in the combat uniform of a standard Federation platoon: bulletproof vests with a reflective gloss, helmets that completely obscured their faces, rubber boots, black fatigue pants, and an all-purpose utility belt with grenades. Depending on assignment, each soldier carried a different weapon. Half of them sported standard laser rifles, the latest from Federation labs. John also saw shell cannons, rocket launchers, flamethrowers, resonators, and a few pulse blades for close combat. Even the medics carried pistols. All told, there were 49 people in the team. John felt like the odd man out.   
  
The squad leader stood up, satisfied that there was no immediate danger. "Coast is clear. Headquarters says that most of the gas fountains have been neutralized; however, isolated pockets could still remain in the city itself, so look sharp and keep those breathing masks operational. No signs of life anywhere around here other than those infernal plants and the other squads report the same. Stay together and keep your weapons ready. There's no telling what we might run into around here." A pink cloud hung over the city of Sa'is Da'ar in the distance. The team leader pointed out a flight of transports rising up from the city. "Those are the last of the brigades sent to knock out the gas fountains. We'll be alone in Sa'is Da'ar."   
  
As it was, the walk to the power plant was uneventful.   
  
From this distance, John could see but not hear his transport lifting off for the return trip to the _Star Shard_. The main access gate of the plant was locked but thankfully not infested. As the technical team fiddled around with securing entrance, John climbed to the top of a nearby eminence and looked around. Sa'is Da'ar was indeed overgrown. The power plant itself was barely recognizable under a pulsing tangle of unnatural veins. Everywhere he looked, John saw the same sight repeated. At this distance, nearly every building that he could see was infested by the strange plants, covered with fleshy material. Some of them pulsed ominously as though they were channeling some sort of liquid - no doubt they were the source of the mysterious sleeping gas. John could see what looked like a large artery, perhaps two meters in diameter, coming out of the top of the power plant, sagging down to the ground, and running directly towards the center of the city. It was covered entirely by a hard, rocklike material and glistened in the sunlight. It lay very still.   
  
The access gate beeped. As the huge doors of the power plant creaked open, a dark pink gas rushed out with a sound like a sigh. John studied it calmly. The gas rendered images within it semi-opaque. More and more of it emerged as the massive steel doors grinded apart; John's comlink crackled and the squad leader reported. "This is Gamma leader, our power plant seems to have an active gas fountain somewhere in it. Will proceed with neutralization."   
  
John had studied schematics of the power plant during his stay on the _Star Shard_. The plant was a huge structure divided into two rooms; a large outer section where the power was routed, and a smaller core where it was generated. The outer section was one big room with a catwalk about halfway between the ceiling and the floor that circled the entire place. As he walked into the plant, John noted that his boots made a squishing sound instead of the accustomed clicks. He glanced down; the entire squad was walking on a mess of roots and fleshy stems. The walls were partly overgrown, too, as was most of the machinery in the room. Although the lighting was poor - the light panels set in the ceiling were not active - it was easy to tell that the power core had been overgrown, too. A large fleshy structure had completely enveloped it; at the top, John noticed the same artery that he had seen earlier, coming through a hole in the ceiling and descending onto the top of the power core. He wasn't certain, though; maybe it was the sleeping gas playing tricks on his eyes. There sure was an unreasonable amount of the stuff around them.   
  
A number of computer terminals were set up parallel to the power core and they seemed unaffected. Most of the technical team went there and the team leader told off a squad to watch over them. After a moment, the technical captain spoke through the comlink. "C technical leader here, the router computers seem intact. The backup generator's also good to go." Even as she said that, various monitors flickered to life and a few of the ceiling lights activated, giving the entire team a much better view of the situation. "Running diagnostics ... most of the power lines are intact. Let's get the power restored and we'll send it down to the communications array in a jiffy." She returned to the technical squad waiting to enter the power core.   
  
"Right." John turned his attention to the fleshy capsule in the middle of the room, the one that had completely enclosed the power core. Now that the lights were back on, he had a much better view of the core. Whatever that capsule was, it was crisscrossed by a number of small veins. Two of the soldiers were busy setting up explosives where the access hatch should have been. John slid around to the opposite side; after a moment, so did the rest of the team. "Fire in the hole!" the team leader announced. There was an explosion and the entire power core spasmed violently. When John returned to the proper side of the core, he saw that the flesh had been cleanly blown away and the access hatch stood revealed. The capsule was shaking and oozing blood through its wounds onto the floors.   
  
Blood? Plants didn't have blood.   
  
A whirr from above distracted John for a moment, but it was only the turbine fans coming to life and clearing away the rest of the sleeping gas. Disturbed by what he had just seen, John turned his attention to the core. The technical captain slid a card through an identifier, which gave no response. Frowning, she banged it and tried the card again; it beeped and the hatch lock was released with a hiss of steam. Mercifully the sleeping gas had just about cleared out.   
  
The comlink crackled. "Headquarters, this is Praetor McDalen of Team Alpha reporting, we just got the power plant back online without any hassles, but it seems that the power lines to the communications array have been cut. Do we have permission to investigate?"   
  
"Permission granted. All teams report, have you found any survivors or any clue at all as to what happened here?" A series of negatives came in response. "Keep your eyes peeled and carry on with the mission. Headquarters, out." The comlink fizzed out; the team leader kicked the steel hatch of the core and it slowly swung inwards. This time, there was no sudden eruption of sleeping gas. It was pitch dark inside and the soldiers switched on their illuminators before proceeding. John followed last, glancing at the hatch as he went in. The wall was a good fifteen centimeters of concrete, with the hatch perhaps a third of its thickness.   
  
The comlink came to life again. "This is Delta team leader, our power plant is active. The communications array is getting all the juice we can pump out. We'll be leaving E squad here on guard and proceeding with the mission. Last team to the communications array gets no donuts for breakfast." There were isolated chuckles at the last statement, then John returned his attention to the power core.   
  
The rays of the illuminators revealed that the power core was structurally intact, much to John's relief. It was also free of infestation. Closer examination, however, revealed that there had previously been a struggle here; there were scorch marks all over the walls as well as dry pools of blood. The generator itself was in the middle of the core room, with three different catwalks at various levels all around the room, each catwalk connected to the other via steel rungs set in the wall. There were controls located on each level and the technical team members went to each. Someone hit a switch, flooding the core with light. As he did so, John glanced upwards. There, fifteen meters above at the ceiling of the core ... the artery that he had seen outside ended here, exposed just above the generator. For the first time John had a good look at its end; it seemed to be tightly sealed with some sort of chitinous membrane and it spanned three meters in diameter. From this perspective it looked more like a mouth. He was slightly put off by the realization that whatever had infested the building had bored through fifteen centimeters of concrete. The overgrowth in general was looking less and less like the work of a plant.   
  
"Well, this place looks clean," the team leader announced. Half a minute passed in comparative silence, then the sound of gigantic magnets winding up reached everyone's ears. The squad gave off a small cheer. "C team leader here, our power is back online and the power lines intact. We'll be leaving G squad on guard here and meeting Delta team at the communications array. Save some of those donuts for us, boys." John smiled. As the squad exchanged various high-fives, the team leader signalled for withdrawal. That was when the entire operation went to hell.   
  
"Mayday, this is Alpha team reporting -!"   
  
"Beta team here, we're under attack!"   
  
"Emergency, this is Delta team -"   
  
"What in the name of all that is worth living for are _those?!_" a soldier exclaimed. John's eyes instinctively shot upwards to the sealed vein, only that it was no longer sealed. The membrane had slid open; in its place, a dozen or more tentacles, each as thick as a man's waist, were slithering out of the vein. They paused for a moment, then sprang into concerted action with terrifying speed. John dove out of the way, unshouldering his rifle in one fluid motion, but the sound of everyone trying to talk at once through the comlink was distracting him. A tentacle slammed into the ground where he had been a moment ago; John opened fire and riddled its flesh with a dozen bullets. Flailing about in pain and spurting blood, the tentacle swept at him and he ducked. As he did so, he could see that his team members were being picked off in ones and twos. Technical leader was the first to go; she screamed in panic as a tentacle wrapped around her waist at blinding speed and lifted her straight into the mouth. Several soldiers soon followed; one of them clutched a shell cannon and the mouth rejected it, sending it clattering back down to the ground mangled beyond use.   
  
"Retreat!" the team leader yelled. John was about to take that advice unprompted when the rest of the team, the squad that had been in the outer room, rushed in, the squad leader breathlessly reporting, "We're under attack, creatures outside got five of -" He was rudely cut off by a tentacle around the mouth. The last person in slammed the hatch shut. John looked about wildly, filled the nearest tentacle with bullets, but it seemed to only make the creature more angry. Lasers were everywhere, again filling the air with the unpleasant smell of ozone. Whatever these creatures were, they weren't stupid. In fact, seeing as how they targeted the heavy weaponry first, a distant part of John's mind suspected a sinister intelligence at work. Something had to give.   
  
"This is Colonel Graylan," the comlink snapped, "what is going on here?"   
  
"It's a tentacle infestation!" Tim McDalen shouted. John rolled away from another tentacle; his first ammunition clip was nearly spent. "We need to get out of here and fast!"   
  
The mouth ... John ejected the spent ammunition cartridge and smoothly replaced it with another. Then he coolly aimed upwards at the gaping mouth and fired off a pair of concussion missiles. They detonated squarely at the base of the tentacle mass. Flailing about in agony, the tentacles hastily withdrew and the chitinous layer sealed over the mouth again.   
  
Drained of adrenaline, John slumped with his back against a wall, listening to the sounds of the battle through his comlink. There was blood everywhere in the room, blood and scorch marks from wild laser shots. From what he heard, Team Delta had beaten back its attackers, too. More ominous, however, was the sound of Colonel Graylan's voice in the mix.   
  
"This is Graylan, we're been cut off from our transports by a number of tentacles. The crew has already been captured and we can't hold out forever in the spaceport. Calling all units of team Omega, return to the spaceport. The rest of you, guard your stations until reinforcements -" There was a plop, a smack, a nauseating sound of something being squished, and Graylan's voice abruptly cut off. One of the remaining technicians in the room leaned over the edge and threw up.   
  
"Beta team leader here, attackers have retreated."   
  
"This is McDalen, they've gone ... for now. Colonel Graylan, are you there? Respond, team Omega!"   
  
Silence.   
  
"Calling all units, this is Praetor McDalen. Our team is down to fourteen, two injured. I am assuming command of Alpha team in the absence of the team leader. Report in."   
  
"Beta team here, we're down to three survivors."   
  
"Gamma team leader reporting, we have a dozen soldiers left, four wounded. Our weaponry's about done for, too."   
  
"Delta team here, we have seventeen left - uh-oh, here they come again!"   
  
Each soldier in the power core room lapsed into silence, listening intently to the sound of the struggle. Each transmission was more desperate than the last until finally only static sounded in the comlink. Delta team ... Samus had been with it. At the thought that she might have been taken by the tentacles, John found himself unsatisfied. He was supposed to kill her himself. But Samus was SX - no way she'd be caught that easily. Sure enough, as McDalen tried to raise the team, the garbled voice of the bounty hunter came in. "Delta team was wiped out," Samus reported quietly, "I'm the only one left."   
  
McDalen swore fluently. "Blast it! This whole mission's gone to pieces. All units, head for the spaceport and rendezvous there. This mission is aborted, repeat, this mission is aborted. Let's just pray that those transports are still active. I'm sure everyone remembers how to pilot one from basic training." If the sarcasm in his voice at the last sentence was a joke, nobody laughed. John stood up and walked towards the hatch.   
  
"Ronin," the team leader called, "where are you going?"   
  
"The spaceport, of course," John replied.   
  
"Our orders were to stay here and defend this place against all comers."   
  
"The mission is a failure," John argued. "You heard Praetor McDalen, we should go to the spaceport and evacuate."   
  
"And how do you know that the transport haven't been smashed into pieces?" Gamma leader asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. "How do you know that we aren't stuck in this forsaken place? There are tentacles out there; you'll be ripped to pieces in no time."   
  
John pointed upwards at the recently closed mouth, now twitching again. "See that? Any moment now those tentacles will be back. There were forty-nine of us to begin with, a team with maximum firepower. Now we're down to twelve with no heavy weapons whatsoever. You think you could hold this room against the tentacles? I'll take my chances out there. There's no way we could reach the _Star Shard_ on our short-range communications." John tapped his comlink for emphasis. "McDalen's right, we have to meet at the spaceport. The transports, at least, could send off a detectable signal even if they aren't spaceworthy. Stay if you want to, but I'm leaving."   
  
"There's no 'I' in 'team,' Ronin," Gamma leader snarled.   
  
"There's an 'm' and an 'e,' which is good enough," John retorted. He set one hand on the hatch and pushed, hard. The hatch slowly swung open. John paused and looked around the room, but there was no movement from anyone, no one willing to follow him. He sighed and turned to leave.   
  
"Set one foot outside, bounty hunter," the team leader threatened loudly, "and I'll have you court-martialed!"   
  
John turned and looked back at the man. "If you live to do so, I will be more than happy to turn myself in." With that he stepped out and slammed the hatch shut with all of his strength; after a moment, it was bolted from inside. John glanced around. Strangely enough, there were only minimal signs of a battle here. The computer monitors were still running; a quick glance showed that the plant was still delivering power to the communications array. Holding his weapon ready, John glanced around cautiously before walking over to the gates. They were still open, flooding the plant with a steady stream of sunlight. His boots squelched on the flesh underfoot as he passed.   
  
He was just outside the doors of the power plant when it happened. A scream cut into his ears; fortunately, the volume was low enough that he was no more than startled. It cut off as quickly as it had commenced, but McDalen was active a moment later demanding a status report. John's eyes swept towards the top of the power plant. After a moment, he saw them: humanoid shapes bulging against the hard, chitinous exterior of the artery - it looked like a throat, John thought. They flailed and struggled, but the throat forced them down relentlessly; their desperate attempts to escape seemed positively pathetic compared to the awesome power of the living tunnel's muscles. The shapes slid onwards like an egg down a serpent's throat, their passage marked by a slight bulge in the tunnel for each person. John calculated where they were going and fired off a concussion missile. It detonated solidly against the artery; when the smoke cleared, he saw that the warhead had made no impression at all on the rocklike surface of the creature.   
  
"Gamma team, report in!" McDalen shouted.   
  
John sighed and switched the comlink on. "This is Ronin; Gamma team is gone," he said quietly. "They were trapped in the power core and picked off; I was the only one who decided to come out." This time there was no stream of invective, only silence. John whispered a quick prayer for Gamma team and turned towards the spaceport. There was nothing he could do for them now. He hoped that their deaths, if death came, would be swift and painless. He turned to walk into the city; the living tunnel stretched out along him for much of the way. The humanoid shapes within it were passed down far more quickly than John walked and soon disappeared from sight into the city.   
  
Some of the streets were clear, some overgrown. All of them, regardless, were silent, devoid of life. As John walked past the first building at the edge of the city, he noticed an unnatural number of civilian transport skiffs nearby. Some were neatly parked alongside the edge of the streets, others had been overturned and wrecked. Several minutes' worth of searching revealed that none of the wrecked ones were operable and none of the intact ones were unlocked. John sighed, found a skiff with its authorization card left inside, and smashed in the window with a solid punch. A moment later, he had commandeered the vehicle and brought up a map of the city.   
  
As he cautiously cruised towards the spaceport, John saw just how infested the city truly was. Nearly every building had been overgrown and many more wrecked skiffs lay haphazardly in the streets. Much more disquieting was the unnatural silence, the absence of any natural or artificial noise other than the whirr of the hijacked skiff. It was as if a neutron bomb had been dropped on the city, eliminating all life while leaving the structures intact. Well, not all life - there was that strange infestation - but certainly John felt uneasy at the lack of any human bodies anywhere. No birds or insects either. A silent takeover, as if the humans had just decided to leave. John expected signs of a one-sided struggle at the least, but all he saw as indications of chaos were the upturned skiffs and the occasional shattered window.   
  
The main communications array was a building that jutted out of the side of the spaceport. John brought up a detailed map view of the surrounding area. The spaceport was a huge, squat structure, some twelve stories high and covering a square kilometer of area. The launch deck was located at the very top, with a surrounding enclosure of concrete about five meters in height. The communications array extended for another hundred stories; the immense radar dish at its top, now inactive, could reach all the way to Sagittarius Station. It rose like a needle above the spaceport. Glancing again at the detailed floor plan of the spaceport, John saw that a launch tube was built squarely down its middle, a structure from the old days when antigrav boosters weren't around to overcome gravity. The launch tube was twenty-five meters in diameter, able to accomodate the biggest ships in those days, and reached nearly fifty meters into the ground besides being encapsulated by the spaceport structure. Common sense dictated that the spaceport must then have a number of basements at least as deep as the launch tube went.   
  
John got out of the skiff and pocketed its authorization card. Looking at the spaceport with his own eyes, one behind his scope, he could see that the place was thoroughly infested. The entrance to the spaceport was a big arch in the concrete structure. There made been a thin membrane covering it until recently; by the look of things, someone had just blasted a way in. There was no sign of team Omega, which was supposed to have secured a perimeter around the structure. Of course, no one had expected the mission to turn out like this.   
  
The interior of the spaceport was dark but seemed free of infestation; tiled floors met steel-lined walls and concrete-supported pillars. When he walked in, John noticed Praetor McDalen, Samus Aran, and a dozen soldiers standing around. Some of the latter had splotches of blood on their uniforms. "St.-Varda," McDalen greeted him. "Good, you're here. Once Beta team appears, we'll head up."   
  
"So few left ... you realize that we're walking into a trap, right?" John asked.   
  
McDalen ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Indeed. I know - I cannot help but know. Still, what choice do we have, really? We either make a run for it or sit around and get picked off here. _Star Shard_ won't be coming around the horizon for another seven standard hours; if the transports aren't operable, then we have to hold out for that long as well as however long it takes for evacuation to arrive. These aren't good odds, Ronin. Still, if we're going to die here, might as well try to get away."   
  
John smiled. "That sort of attitude is what made you my worthiest opponent on Serapa."   
  
"Yeah." McDalen chuckled too. "I have to admit, you're the best soldier I've ever seen. I don't like saying this to a bounty hunter, but ... you've earned my respect, John, you really have. If we get out, I'll buy you enough beers to have you hungover for a standard month."   
  
"Justine wouldn't like that," John pointed out.   
  
McDalen's smile faded somewhat. "Your girlfriend, huh? I heard every bounty hunter has at least one, and probably more. I have a family, though ... my oldest son is already sixteen. Don't let anyone know, John, but I'm getting too old for this sort of work. I'm nearly forty-five standard years old. After this ... give me an office job any day." He looked up past John's shoulder. "Here come Owen Custer and what's left of Beta team. Three people. That makes ... nineteen all told. Nineteen, out of a hundred ninety-six to begin with. Someone's head is going to roll for this." McDalen's indicated that it would be his own and that he would be content so long as someone was left alive to take responsibility.   
  
McDalen called everyone in for a group meeting. "I tried the elevators earlier, but they're all inoperable. We'll have to take the stairs up to the highest floor. Listen to me, all of you: we're going to get out of here. We _will_ make it, as long as everyone sticks together. I don't know what's out there waiting for us, but as long as we work together, cover each other's backs, we'll make it for sure." He looked around, his eyes pausing for an extra second on John's. "I have faith in all of you."   
  
The Praetor picked up his weapon - it was a long pulse blade, an elegant weapon shaped as a sword and capable of shearing through the hardest material. Flicking on an illuminator, he led the way into the darkness of the spaceport. While overrun on the outside, it seemed clear within and John was oddly comforted by this fact. He walked on the right flank of the group, Samus on the left, both with their weapons armed and ready. John did not have an illuminator, but at least his imaging scope could switch over to thermal or x-ray at a moment's notice. McDalen found the first flight of stairs upwards and they ascended quietly, each soldier keenly aware of the surroundings.   
  
It took them about half an hour to reach the launch deck, only to find that it was sealed and could be opened only from the control tower. It took another half hour for John and Owen to go to the tower and unseal the launch deck. As the little squad emerged once more into the open air, every soldier saw the signs of Stanton Graylan's last stand; shell pockets, burn marks, and blood. There was even a ten-foot tentacle piece cleanly severed at the base by a pulse blade. The absence of any ships besides the two transports was a conspicuous one. The two remaining technical members went over to inspect the tentacle while Praetor McDalen ran to the transports. Even from his distance, however, John could see that it was pointless. McDalen confirmed the guess a moment later. "Transports have been wrecked pretty thoroughly. They'll never fly again. Communications ... operable."   
  
At that last word, the entire band breathed out a communal sigh of relief. Tim McDalen busied himself setting soldiers in various defensive positions around the transports, spreading out the weapons for the best possible line of sight coverage as well as maximum firepower. Between them, the band had fifteen laser rifles, two shell cannons, two pulse blades, and the individual weapons that John, Owen, and Samus used. In her position, Samus leaned against a wrecked transport and stared at her arm cannon. Owen, in the meanwhile, tipped his ten-gallon hat back and brandished a wicked-looking energy cannon. He and John had been placed together atop the transports, where they could cover any side with superior firepower at a moment's notice.   
  
John looked around himself. The launch deck was a whole square kilometer in area, made of thick concrete. The four entrances to the deck, one in each cardinal direction, provided the only means of access to the deck. The entire deck was level and bare of any ships save for the wrecked transports at the center of the deck. They had been parked north and south of the launch tube, which was sealed at the moment by a half-meter thick concrete barrier. If they were attacked, any tentacle would have to wade through half a kilometer's worth of murderous firepower to reach them. Still, it was a bad position and they were all aware of that, McDalen most of all; the wrecked transports were evidence that the tentacles could indeed reach so far. "Now what do we do?" Owen asked through the comlink.   
  
"We wait for six standard hours and pray," McDalen said. 


	5. Boxed In

**Boxed In**   
  


* * *

**Author's Notes:** I apologize for making a serious mistake in the last chapter. I wrote that the _Star Shard_ was in geosynchronous orbit around Noriath; obviously, if that were true, it would never appear over Sa'is Da'ar. My appreciation goes to Cauchys Inequality for pointing out that mistake - it has been changed to "progressive" orbit.   
  
**MegaSamusX:** Thanks for the review, although I'd really appreciate it if you'd point out exactly where I made my grammatical errors. Proofreading ... eh, what's that?   
  
**Insomniac by Choice:** I owe both you and MegaSamus a lot of gratitude, since the two of you really gave me the drive to keep on writing this story. Thanks for the review, I'll try to get off one last update before winter vacation.   
  
**Cauchys Inequality:** Thanks for bringing that rather glaring error to my notice - wow, that's twice you've done the favor for me. I owe you big time.   
  


* * *

_ Launch Deck, Sa'is Da'ar Spaceport   
One hour has passed _   
  
"Have you ever seen such poor bastards as us?" Owen Custer complained.   
  
John St.-Varda nodded in glum commiseration. The sun had just passed its zenith and the day was scorching hot; the concrete pavement of the launch deck only exacerbated the situation by reflecting back the heat wave. Both he and Owen were sweating on the metallic hood of the transport. While he agreed with McDalen on the need for vigilance, there was only so much that the human body could handle. For the thousandth time John found himself wondering why various other alien species hadn't been accepted into the Federation military.   
  
"The Federation's full of racists, that's why," Samus answered from below. Belatedly John realized that he'd spoken his thought aloud. Recovering, he threw back, "I suppose it's too much to hope that you're also roasting in that suit?"   
  
"Varia upgrade, made especially for handling superheated environments such as volcanic caves or nuclear reactors about to melt. I'm fine and comfortable; thanks for your concern, John."   
  
"Anytime," John shot back sarcastically. Come to think of it, it was actually rather surprising that neither he nor Samus had killed each other over the past two years. "Oh, anything for some cloud cover."   
  
Owen stood up and began to pace around on the hood of the transport. While wrecked, enough of the transport's chassis remained intact that it could still be used as an elevated firing platform. "Man, I'm so bored ... I know I should be tense and all, but honestly I've been in situations like this before. Just sit around twiddling your thumbs and doing nothing for another five standard hours."   
  
"Oh, yeah?" Samus called up. "And when was this?"   
  
"Eh, let's see ... about seven standard years ago, Gemini quadrant, near the Orion-Beta asteroid cluster, right before the Battle of Vorn'haust. The Federation was shipping a load of munitions somewhere. The freighters were ambushed by Space Pirates and left dead in space, but somehow intact; since I was the nearest military backup, they sent me there to guard the shipment until they could scramble a technical team and repair the freighters. Paid well, but was a waste of two standard days ... flying around a bunch of derelict freighters is no fun, and neither is this. Man, I want some action."   
  
John scanned the hangar entrances with a wary eye. "I hope that we _don't_ see any action. I just want to get out of here, collect my bounty, and head back to Sagittarius Station."   
  
"Oh, yeah, your girlfriend," Owen ribbed. "I heard the Federation command sent you some mail while you were still aboard the battlecruiser. They said that Justine's gone missing and were wondering if she was with you on the battlecruiser. She really like you that much?"   
  
"That's my business, Owen." John sighted down the barrel of his long rifle. She wasn't with him, of course, and while John was mildly concerned, he certainly wasn't alarmed. Probably some poor boy new to his job had forgotten to mark Justine as present for the day; according to Justine, such events occurred all the time. He changed subjects in an effort to divert Owen's attention. "Bounty hunting is a cutthroat business. I'm really starting to become too old for this - maybe after this mission I'll just settle down and have a family. Yeah ... start a family with Justine ... that sounds like a good plan. We sure are being paid a lot for this mission, enough for me to retire in style. Hmm ... maybe I'll start a business ... yes, Ronin's Ordnance Shed, for all your bounty hunting needs - what's so funny, Owen?"   
  
Owen had doubled over laughing on the transport deck. "That's ... just ... too funny, John ... I can't imagine you ... having Justine as your - oof!" He glanced down to see John's fist planted firmly in his stomach. Rather weakly, he gasped out, "Sorry."   
  
"You think that hurt?" John asked mildly, withdrawing his fist. "You ought to see the way McDalen punches - he may not look like it, but he's actually an expert in hand-to-hand combat. He has to be, in order to be a Praetor. He can lay a serious beatdown on me even when he's only half awake." John fell silent; his words had brought up certain unpleasant memories of his time in Serapa.   
  
"Let me guess, he taught you a few tricks the hard way?" Owen teased.   
  
"I'm still SX, mind you," John replied. "And even if he did, we're still teammates for this mission. I'm just glad Justine isn't here - this place is way too dangerous for someone like her. Since when did Noriath become infested, anyway? _That_ doesn't make any sense at all."   
  
"Yeah," Owen agreed. "This just seems to me like some experiment gone horribly wrong, or maybe some octopus wandered too close to a nuclear reactor. None of this makes any sense whatsoever." He leaned over the side of the transport hood, taking care not to scorch his skin on the metallic chassis. "What do you think, Samus?"   
  
"Space Pirate sabotage, perhaps?" she wondered aloud.   
  
Owen sighed. "Look, Samus, I know your great-grandmother wasn't all that keen about the Space Pirates, but it's been several standard years since they lost the Battle of Vorn'haust. The Space Pirates couldn't possibly be more than just a minor annoyance now. Think about it - they lost nearly all of their combat-worthy ships that battle as well as their leader, that Space Dragon-thing. They certainly wouldn't be able to come this far. No, I think we can rule out the Space Pirates."   
  
"Believe what you like," Samus called back. "And, for your information, my great-grandmother was nearly killed by those creeps."   
  
Owen said something in reply; John tuned out the conversation between him and Samus. The legend of Samus Aran was well-known amongst the bounty hunting community. The original Samus, many standard years ago, had been the sole survivor of a Space Pirate attack on her homeworld. Raised by the Chozo, she had entered the bounty hunting profession as a lone warrior, a mysterious and deadly assassin handpicked for a dangerous infiltration into Zebes, stronghold of the Pirates. Afterwards a series of missions ensued, culminating in a return to Zebes and the destruction of the entire planet. That was arguably the greatest accomplishment of her career, single-handedly eliminating the Space Pirate threat for nearly thirty standard years. It was also the first time that the galaxy discovered that Samus was, in fact, a "she." It had been at a recognition ceremony held in the Federation Senate and beamed across the galaxy. That immortal moment in front of the civilized galaxy - Samus accepting her medal while removing her helmet at the same moment, revealing her true identity for the first time. Unfortunately, no one had actually captured the image; it was the only known occasion that Samus had emerged from her suit, so her actual appearance remained a mystery. Regardless, the media loved it, feminists had a field day, and that one event provided enough gossip to last the galaxy for a whole year. The publicity had been good to Samus - she'd run nearly four hundred missions that year at a time when most bounty hunters were fortunate to see only a tenth of that number offered to them.   
  
But that was in the past, the legendary past of nearly a hundred years ago. Samus had continued to live her dangerous life, finally meeting her end in a battle with the reemergent Space Pirates, thirty years after the destruction of Zebes. Yet a year later, _he_ mysteriously returned ... Samus' son, in the same armor as his mother, with the same deadly skill. In retrospect, no one had known that Samus had a son, and although a number of cracks had stepped forward and tried to claim parenthood, Samus himself never acknowledged his unknown father - in the process, of course, inadvertently fueling many shadowy stories of his past. After his death, his own son replaced him, and his son after him, twenty years ago. Except that John knew the truth - this time, Samus was again a woman. He wondered how much his information might fetch on the open market. It was a family tradition, he supposed - they were all bounty hunters, and the legend of Samus Aran lived on in its latest bearer. All of them SX, all of them mysterious, all of them characterized by the same lethal skill that had made "Samus Aran" a name whispered in fear by all wanted criminals.   
  
Owen glanced at his watch. "Another four and a half standard hours until the _Star Shard_ comes by. It's sure taking its sweet time on this one," he added sourly. "I'm sure the Federation didn't envision _this_ sort of thing happening when the mission was made Priority One." He sighed long and loud. "So many people dead ... my reputation will be ruined."   
  
"Your reputation?" John half-snarled. "What about their families?!" To his relief, his observation managed to shut Owen up.   
  
After a long, uneasy silence, Samus called up, "So tell us a little more about your girlfriend, John. She's a pretty one."   
  
"And why should I do that?"   
  
"Because Owen is bored, I'm bored, and I'm sure you're bored also. I've been staring at the same rock for fifteen minutes now. C'mon, pass the time, will you?"   
  
John weighed the idea for a moment in his mind before giving in. "Okay. Justine and I met about two years ago ... a week after Wraith's death. You see, I had just gone to Jotarun ..."   
  
_ Seated gloomily at the bar, John stared at his drink. It was his ... fifth, sixth? - cup and he was determined to get drunk. Wraith, dead; he still found it impossible to accept that fact. Dead! He was on Jotarun now; just two days ago, he'd visited Wraith's parents to break the bad news. Now that he thought about it, they'd taken Wraith's death much better than he had. John didn't care; all he cared about was that his best friend was now dead. "Like a ... brother ... to me ..." he murmured, speech slurred by the heavy intake of alcohol. Ironically, he'd died trying to help people, not in pursuit of a reward. John was still trying to decide whether that was a good or a terrible way for a bounty hunter to go. Not that it would help Wraith now.   
  
Gradually he became aware that there was someone seated next to him. Hunched over the countertop, John reacted when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Whatever it was that he'd been drinking, he'd had too much of it; he was too slow by an entire second and when he finally turned to his left, he found himself staring at ... what? Blasted alcohol, his eyes were blurry. He inhaled a deep breath, closed his eyes, reopened them, and let his vision clear. Next thing he knew, he was staring into the eyes of the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life. The sight was so stunning that John was surprised into half-sobriety.   
  
"Are you okay?" she asked, double images of her face swirling around a center point. "You look like you're going to die of alcohol poisoning."   
  
"Wouldn't that be nice?" John murmured, reaching for a glass. "Care to join me?"   
  
The woman shook her head slowly. "No thanks. I don't drink, I just come here for the gossip."   
  
"More's the pity. Who are you?"   
  
"Justine Lee. And you are?"   
  
"John St.-Varda, or Ronin among the bounty hunters."   
  
"A bounty hunter? That is so cool. I've heard all sorts of stories about you people. What do you do for a living?" And with that question, John pushed his drink back and slowly, haltingly at first, began to talk about the bounty hunters. Their dangerous profession. Their affiliations, guilds, the secret shadow wars that they sometimes waged. Several times Justine interrupted to ask questions. Gradually John sobered up as he talked about his career. In retrospect, it was hard to tell why he opened up to Justine the way he did. He had never regretted doing so.   
  
"What about you?" he asked. "Where do you live, what do you do?"   
  
"I'm a quartermaster of the Federation Navy," Justine explained. "I joined a few years ago in order to see the galaxy. I live wherever the navy needs me - here, at the moment." Prompted by a few more questions, Justine leaned an elbow on the counter and related her life story. "I've lived on Morwin, in the Virgo sector, for most of my life - until a year or two ago, actually. It's an industrial planet, specializes in civilian passenger ships. My older brother was groomed to succeed my father in the family business. This, of course, left me free to do whatever, and I did - I enlisted with the navy. I've always wanted to see the galaxy. Of course, my decision was rather surprising to my family, but everyone understood. I bet that you've seen a lot more than I have, though. Have you ever been to Vys'heth ... the Rainbow Hole ... the capital ...?" And John, who had indeed been to all these places, found himself drawn more and more into the conversation.   
  
Then came the question he dreaded. "So, what are you doing here?"   
  
John bowed his head. "A friend of mine was killed recently," he said quietly. "I came here to give his family the news ... and ... the funeral is in a few days."   
  
After a tense silence, Justine stood up. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have intruded -"   
  
"No no no, it's fine, it's fine." He also stood up. "I've stayed around here too long. I should be going."   
  
He felt her slip something into his hand. "That's my number," she said shyly, meeting his eyes after a moment's hesitation. "Call me sometime, okay?" John agreed and they parted, but not for the last time. He had talked to her again; Justine also appeared at Wraith's funeral, deeply touched by the emotionally charged procession. Afterwards, John had left to pursue a new bounty, leaving Justine behind on Jotarun. Still, despite the fact that they were often separated, sometimes by a whole galaxy-breadth - and despite a fling here or there by John - they'd kept in steady touch. As the years went by, John found himself growing closer and closer to her; perhaps he was falling in love. _   
  
"And that's the gist of it," John said in conclusion. "I owe my emotional recovery to her. Wraith's death inspired me to train at my hardest, but I couldn't have made the SX rank without Justine's support. She's the most important person in my life." He smiled wryly. "I don't know where I'd be right now if it weren't for her. Ironic, isn't it, what chance occurrences can do?"   
  
"How touching," Samus observed with a trace of cynicism, and Owen commented, "You're too soft to be a good hunter, John."   
  
John faked an impressive yawn. "Believe what you will." He glanced at his chronometer. "Another four standard hours and we are out of here. I want some real food on the battlecruiser, not these C-rations that they give us. That, and a beer or two. Then a bath and some sleep, preferably in that order. What about you two?"   
  
"Bath first," Samus said. While Owen wasn't watching, John rolled his eyes and thought to himself, _Women._ Owen looked over the transport hood at Samus. "Getting drunk and wasted is my top priority," Owen announced. "Everything else pales in comparison - wait, say that again? Oh, yeah, that too - can't have you claim my bounty while I'm drunk."   
  
John tugged at his collar; the day really was blazing hot. Just how close was Noriath to its sun anyway? The sun was well past its zenith, but John was sweating profusely. It was lucky that the _Star Shard_ was coming around the horizon in a couple of hours; John felt that he couldn't stand another day of this. But just then Tim McDalen barked out a command and John's head snapped up. The ensuing sight chilled his blood; pink gas was issuing from the north hangar entrance. John instinctively reached for his breath mask; finding that it was still secure, he rose to his knees and sighted his rifle on the hangar doors. The launch deck had become deadly quiet.   
  
The tentacles didn't make them wait long. "Here they come!" McDalen called out; a mass of forty or more tentacles sprang out of the hangar entrance in a fearsome display of writhing flesh, each tentacle speeding with single-minded purpose towards the transports. As they did so, John suddenly came to the unpleasant conclusion that they were in a very bad position - surrounded, able to be attacked on four sides with no fifth for retreat, as well as significantly less firepower than what Stanton Graylan's ill-fated team had sported. John fired a steady stream of bullets into the tentacled mass; punctured by ordnance and laser blasts, a dozen tentacles retreated but the rest came on.   
  
"Look out, east side too," McDalen called. "Cover your sectors!" John spared a glance eastwards and caught a glimpse of another roiling mass of tentacles advancing with the same fevered speed. There was no time to waste, though; turning his attention back to north, he fired out a pair of concussion missiles and was satisfied to see that at least some of the tentacles were blown apart by them. From the side of the transport, Samus pumped a steady stream of missiles eastward. John crouched down; a moment later, he nearly lost his footing as Owen fired off the enormous energy cannon, shooting a spray of bluish plasma that vaporized nearly every tentacle to the north. The recoil knocked both of them on their backs. Great - only two tentacles still coming on. The rest were withdrawing to nurse their wounds.   
  
Laser fire cut down one of them; the other reached for McDalen, who sliced it apart effortlessly with his pulse blade, spraying flesh and blood in every direction. "North clear," McDalen reported crisply. "Cover east, but watch it - I see some movement west and south, also." Whether it was because the soldiers on the east were less accurate or because they lacked supporting fire, over a dozen tentacles reached their position. Four of the soldiers were dragged away, one of them screaming for his mother. John turned his firepower on the tentacles, joined by Samus and Owen; their attackers apparently decided that wisdom was the better part of valor and beat a hasty retreat, taking their victims with them. John blew apart one of the tentacles that had captured a soldier, but another one quickly swooped by and picked up the terrified victim. A moment later, they had disappeared into the grim darkness of the hangar entrance.   
  
"Look out, they're coming from this direction!" someone shouted. John whipped around to see similar sights from the south and west entrances; masses of tentacles speeding towards them at frightening speed. No time for fear, though; John called west, fired, cursed as his ammunition ran dry, and hastily replaced his magazine. Owen again fired off the energy cannon; the recoil of the blast made John's first few shots fly wildly far from their mark. Amongst the laser blasts John could dimly make out the shapes of Samus' high velocity missiles. He fired his own concussion missiles into the mix. The tentacles beat a hasty retreat, apparently deciding that they did not like the group's firepower. On the south side, they took another soldier with them.   
  
As quickly as it had begun, the skirmish was over and John found himself mildly surprised to still be alive. "Report in," McDalen called. "I want to know exactly how much ammunition is left. We're down to fourteen soldiers, but we can still hold this position." John and Owen glanced at each other, John nodding slowly. "Yeah ... Graylan's team had superior firepower but was unprepared," he noted, "and they were much closer to the hangar entrances. Huh. Never knew position could be this decisive in a fight."   
  
McDalen tallied the results and apparently was not pleased. "We've spent more than half of our firepower. Nobody go all shell-shocked on me, okay? Stars, what a mess." John silently agreed; there was blood and gore everywhere, the concrete seemed to be covered with the stuff. He suddenly realized that he was very, very thirsty. He reached for his water bottle, unsealed the breath mask for a moment - luckily for them the sleeping gas had disappeared with the tentacles - and drained his bottle of its contents. Resealing his mask, John glanced at Owen's energy cannon. "That was closer than I would have liked. Maybe I don't want to know, but ... where exactly did you get that from?"   
  
Owen grinned and flipped a thumbs-up. "Class A WarTech cannon, scavenged directly off a derelict destroyer. Took me a month of repairs just to get this thing to fire. It has its own internal power supply as well as an energy dispersion fan for maximum efficiency in directional fire. Takes a couple of seconds to charge between shots, though; I have to work on perfecting that." John whistled; a Class A cannon from a Federation ship could blow holes through a meter-thick bunker wall, never mind a number of thick-skinned tentacles. John checked his own rifle; still in top condition, and his ammunition stocks were fine. He made a mental note to be more forgiving on the magazine switch in the next battle.   
  
"Hey, Samus," Owen called. "Just how many missiles do you carry, anyway? I mean, I saw John use a couple - he probably has four of those miniaturized warheads in each clip - but you were using them like water. Just curious in a professional way."   
  
"Right," Samus called back. "Actually, I don't have any missiles at all. My arm cannon has a special upgrade that allows it to create a missile out of energy and fire it off. As long as the missile energy tanks aren't depleted, I can fire off a missile. It's really handy when you think of it. I have about fifty tanks, each one stores enough energy for five missiles, and together they take up less space than a single missile. Very convenient. It's a Chozo technology and works in similar ways for my other weapons - super missiles, power bombs, dispersion torpedoes, whatever."   
  
John felt his eyebrows rise; he'd never heard of anything like that before. His own weapon suddenly seemed positively obsolete in comparison. Chozo technology ... "But I thought that the Chozos were pacifists."   
  
"They are," Samus replied. "But they adapted their technology especially for my suit." It was hard to tell for certain because the modulator distorted her voice, but John thought he heard an undertone of _You idiot, can't you figure this out for yourself?_ "The Chozo usually leave relics in places where they've once settled," she continued. "Some of them can be really useful, too. Others ... I sell to the Federation research laboratories, since I don't need them and they can't figure out the technology. Blasted Spring Ball - there's a worthless piece of junk if I ever saw one."   
  
"But do you carry all of your equipment on you?" Owen persisted.   
  
"Why are you so interested?" Samus wanted to know.   
  
John saw him shrug. "Just curious," Owen said. "When I was young I played Super Metroid and Metroid Prime. Did your great-grandmother pass the equipment down the line?"   
  
Samus rattled off a list. "Gravity upgrade ... check. Varia suit ... check. Bombs ... check. Ordnance tanks ... check. Jump boots ... check. Grappling beam ... check. That's about it, though; all the rest - X-ray visor, beams, Screw Attack - either broke down or were simply lost. Or, in the cases of certain useless items, sold. Genuine Samus Aran suit upgrades go for a lot these days on eBay - more than I can make on almost any mission. Maybe I ought to follow John's lead and retire in style."   
  
"I can't imagine that," Owen said, chuckling. John rolled his eyes. "You have a girlfriend?" Owen asked.   
  
Short pause. "No. You?"   
  
"Um, well, I'm working on it." This was accompanied by a guilty glance in John's direction. "Not a problem, though - no woman can resist the legendary Custer charm. At least, not when Custer himself has a mind to use it, which I often do. Speaking of - uh, John, not trying to be nitpicky or anything, but would you please point that rifle elsewhere? You're making me nervous."   
  
"Good," John said. Before he could say anything else, a deep groan of strained metal interrupted him. Suddenly tense, John and Owen glanced around themselves, looking for the source of the sound. It was not repeated and Owen shrugged. "You're weighing the deck down, Ronin."   
  
"What was that?" Tim McDalen called through the comlink. "Did you hear that?"   
  
Owen spread his hands out. "Yes, but it's gone now. No idea what that could've been. You think maybe the deck is going to collapse?"   
  
"Now? I doubt it." The Praetor consulted his chronometer. "Just another three hours and the _Star Shard_ appears around the horizon. You'd think they could have at least left a few comm satellites in orbit, but nope. Navy Command is _not_ going to like this: ninety percent casualties, including the commanding officer, against some tentacles? We'll be the laughingstock of the galaxy."   
  
He might have said more, but again the groan of tearing metal interrupted him and this time it was clearly audible to all. It lasted for a few seconds before dying down. "Where did _that_ come from?" McDalen demanded. He made a quick round inspection but ended up shaking his head in confusion. "Strange. Keep your eyes peeled and weapons ready. Something tells me that those tentacles might not be done with us yet."   
  
"Good!" Owen called back, rubbing his hands in anticipation. "It's better than being bored to death here."   
  
No one replied. John concentrated his vision on the north hangar entrance, watching for any sign of movement. There was a tangible tension in the air now, something absent only moments earlier. Dimly John was aware that the soldiers were deadly silent. There! Was that movement? John shook his head clear; no, it was only his eyes playing tricks on him, as eyes were wont to do after being fixed on the same spot for too long. Just to be certain, John switched his vision over to thermal imaging. Still no luck - the deck was hot enough to obscure any images of tentacles. Foiled, John returned his sight to visual. No movement; well, his eyes were creating images, then.   
  
_Something's wrong,_ he thought to himself. None of the hangar entrances showed any movement at all. Yet, he could have sworn that their unseen adversaries were plotting something. It felt like the calm before a storm; when the storm broke, they would end up in the middle of it. _Stop it,_ he reprimanded himself sternly. _No use wearing out your vigilance so quickly._ But the nagging feeling of disquietude remained. John nervously checked his rifle again.   
  
For the third time the small squad heard the screech of metal on metal; John jumped, at the same time berating himself for doing so. This time the creaks were longer and more pronounced; John looked around himself, trying to locate the sources of the sound, before realizing that they were being emitted almost directly underneath him. Underneath? Then that would mean ... instinctively his eyes were drawn towards the sheath of the launch tube, directly between the two transports. With an earsplitting screech, the tube's concrete cover was forced back. An enormous mass of tentacles poured out, bent on destruction. John had no time to shout a warning before he was hit and knocked off the transport hood.   
  
Caught completely by surprise, the soldiers had no chance. Owen Custer dove, skinning his knees, but evading the nearest tentacles while keeping the rest at arm's length with his weapon. John rolled upright, surprised to find that he was still holding his rifle, and ran. He was dimly aware of Tim McDalen shouting orders mixed with curses. The other soldiers were less fortunate. John caught a glimpse of various tentacles dragging the remaining soldiers back into the launch tube. He fired steadily, but there were far too many tentacles for him to handle by himself. Then Tim McDalen hacked his way through a mass of the squirming tendrils and reached his side, dragging a stunned Owen Custer after him. "Get down! Now!" He and Owen both dove to the ground, John following suit a moment later. From the corner of his eye John caught sight of the transports, now totally wrecked. Then a brilliant flash blinded him and he buried his face into the concrete.   
  
The explosion rocked him with a hot wind that seemed to seep through his armor. Several seconds passed before he could move; when he did, he rolled upright. The transports were gone, replaced by masses of blood and filthy, dismembered flesh. The tentacles had vanished, too, doubtlessly disappearing back into the launch tube with their prey. Standing in the center of the carnage was Samus Aran, kicking a severed tentacle to the side. Too stunned to process the information - that battle had gone by in a blur - John managed to gasp out, "Wha ...?"   
  
"Power Bomb," Tim McDalen explained. "Unfortunately, it must have wiped out the transports along with the tentacles." He glanced around the entire launch deck, noting the pools of blood and flesh. Slowly the Praetor shook his head, perhaps willing himself to disbelieve what he was seeing. "Just the four of us left," Tim said slowly. "And all because I assumed that the tentacles couldn't bore through the launch column."   
  
"They didn't," Samus informed him, slowly walking up to the trio. Owen was seated on the concrete, tending to his scraped knees. "Whatever these tentacles are, some higher intelligence must control them. The column ceiling opened by itself - they must have deciphered the controls in the tower. These things are smart, and they're hunting us. It looks like game over."   
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Owen asked.   
  
The others already knew. "The _Star Shard_ appears over the horizon in two hours," Tim said heavily. "But the transports are gone. We cannot communicate with the battlecruiser anymore, and the backup crews have no orders to help us unless specifically called. The four of us are stuck on this forsaken planet." 


	6. End of the Line

**End of the Line**   
  


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**Author's Notes:** Finally, an update. Oh boy, lots of reviews to answer (in no particular order). Sorry I took so long about it, Christmas vacation will do that sort of thing to you, no? Anyway, here's the chapter. This is the dark section that earns the entire story its rating and is not meant for people who scare easily. Have fun reading, as long as you don't read it at night with all the lights turned off ...   
  
As I write these comments, I'm currently listening to the song "Kokoro - Quietly Love Grew Strong" composed by Yasunori Mitsuda and performed by Joanne Hogg. For a better reading experience, I suggest that interested parties check my webpage (located on my profile) and find the page where the song is placed (There's a link under the Quote of the Moment that takes you to a page dedicated to the song). Get out your handkerchiefs - if this chapter doesn't make you cry, then I haven't done my job.   
  
**Insomniac by Choice:** High expectations from others = high quality of work. Keep up your good work, too! Previously I'd carefully calculated the pace of each chapter, but I hope you don't feel that I've thrown caution to the winds.   
  
**Chan Yoruyamatiha:** Glad you like this fiction, but it's nearly done as it is. Keep your fingers crossed, Colliding Worlds is next in line on my list once I finish with this one. And thanks for the pics, I'll do everything that I can with them.   
  
**Anonymous:** (makes humming sounds) Eh, the spirits aren't with me today, I can't guess who you are. You asked for more action, and here it is - absolutely packed with action, drama, suspense, and horror. Thanks for the review, I'll keep your suggestions on pace in mind. And BTW, that little part about the old Metroid games and Ebay and whatnot was supposed to be the comic relief for an otherless mundane chapter.   
  
**Ret:** No, I've written enough! So tired ... must ... sleep ...   
  
**Inferno719:** See above comment. Also, as previously mentioned, I'm nearly done with the story as it is. I apologize if it feels a bit rushed towards the end.   
  
**Draconious:** So, you enjoy the relationship that John has with the two women in this story, eh? Without giving anything away ... (ominous voice) ... the future holds unknown perils for our beleagured protagonist ...   
  
**Timaster:** Nitpicking can get quick results, at least from me. Here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy it. (Although, if you pressure me like that again, I'll introduce you as an OC and move you to the top of the tentacle feed list. j/k, of course.)   
  
**Shining Toaster:** Yes, I do have a life outside writing fanfictions, but I've really put this off for so long that I have no excuse. Enjoy.   
  
**Cauchys Inequality:** Of all the people who've read this fiction, you're the one who has given me the most ideas. This byline should read "by CMK and Cauchys." While I can't say that I acted on your suggestions - ah, just read the story.   
  
**MegaSamusX:** No, I haven't forgotten you. Thanks for being such a devoted fan. You're one of the people who holds me to a high standard and I can't thank you enough for it. Hope you enjoy this chapter.   
  


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_ Launch Deck, Sa'is Da'ar Spaceport   
Two minutes have passed _   
  
"Okay, here's our situation." Tim McDalen spoke in terse tones, reflecting the uneasiness that they all seemed to feel. It was late afternoon and the _Star Shard_ was due to appear in two hours. According to McDalen, after eight hours it would be directly overhead. All four soldiers kept a long distance away from the launch tube, still open, and any of the hangars. "Ammunition, good. Location, bad. Hope of evacuation, slim to none. Backup, nonexistent. Rations, good. Short range communications, excellent. Long range communications, none. Equipment, satisfactory. So to sum it all up, prospects of survival: slim."   
  
"Aren't you a bucket of cheer?" Owen Custer observed sarcastically.   
  
"I call it as I see it," McDalen replied. "Now that the transports are gone, there's no use staying here and being picked off one by one. Therefore, we have two options: we can try to find a safe place and barricade it until reinforcements come, or we can try to locate the hive mind of this monster and kill it. Personally, I'm leaning towards the second choice. Federation command is _eventually_ going to send somebody down here and we can at least pave the way for them. It'll also improve our chances of surviving. I'm not asking anyone to come with me - I'll do this myself if necessary."   
  
"Now hold on a moment," John cut in. "Tim, you're not thinking straight. Remember our original mission? Why can't we just get all the power reactors started again and send off a communication to the _Star Shard_ from the primary communications array? And even if we couldn't, going alone would be sheer suicide. We all stick together, else we'll be picked off one by one."   
  
McDalen sighed. "Escape is impossible now. I scanned the communications array before the battle that we had here. It's been wrecked. I doubt that the equipment is still functioning. And even if we could repair the array, the power lines from the power plants have been cut. I know, I checked them myself on the way up. Just rewiring the whole system would take a month." He paused for a moment. "Find a side room and barricade yourselves in if you wish, but be warned, prior experience shows that these tentacles can get past almost any obstacle. As for me, I'm going."   
  
"If you go, I'll go too," John said.   
  
"And me," Samus added.   
  
After a brief silence, Owen nodded. "Fine. Safety in numbers, so they say. Which way?"   
  
McDalen looked around. "Eh ... good question ... tentacles came out of all four hangars. Let's go to the south hangar, seeing as how it's the closest one anyway." With that, the praetor sheathed his pulse blade and strode off at a rapid pace. The other three fell into step with him, on the lookout for any signs of danger. John set his vision filter to thermal imaging, but received a black screen. Frowning, he tried the x-ray filter and got the same result. Banging the eyepiece produced a number of crispy plastic collision sounds; John swore profusely and tore the eyepiece off his helmet, exposing both eyes. "Piece of junk got broken in that last scrap!" He flung the visor away.   
  
"Equipment problems, Ronin?" Samus inquired coolly.   
  
"Shut up."   
  
"Will you two knock it off?" McDalen demanded, annoyance heavy in his voice. "We're hard pressed enough as it is without having to deal with civil war in our ranks." They passed under the overhang of the hangar bay and emerged back into the shadows of the interior. The lights had already been knocked out. From an unseen source, McDalen produced an illuminator and switched it on, its soft fluorescent light shining off various metallic surfaces. There was a good deal of blood inside, too, none of which looked human. McDalen consulted with the group. "How many decks did we pass when we came up?"   
  
Owen said twenty; Samus had counted eighteen, not including the ground deck. McDalen sighed. "Okay, we didn't see any signs of infestation coming up except on the seventh deck. We'll go there, spread out, and look around."   
  
"There's a possibility that the hive mind isn't in this building," Owen pointed out.   
  
"True," McDalen conceded. "But let's be certain of that."   
  
"There's also a possibility that there isn't a hive mind at all."   
  
"That's what I'm afraid of. If there isn't, cleaning out this city is going to be a mess." McDalen reached a stairwell and thought for a moment. "Not likely, though; these tentacles behave too intelligently not to be controlled by a higher power. It's up to us to find out exactly what this higher power is. And when we do ..." Here McDalen made an angry slicing motion across his throat. "... I'll be sure to greet it - personally. Samus, how many Power Bombs do you have left?"   
  
"Enough energy to generate ... five, maybe." Samus paused. "But that's a dangerous level of power expenditure. Even my suit can't hold back the energy of five power bombs if they all go off at once. Will that be necessary?"   
  
"Let's hope not," McDalen replied simply. They walked together in tense silence until reaching what they thought was the seventh deck from the ground up. It was clearly infested; flesh hung everywhere, covering all of the bulkheads, the floor, and the ceiling. John's boots made a soft squish with every step; consulting his memory, he didn't recall the floor being so far overgrown the last time they'd been here. "Let's look around," McDalen ordered in a loud whisper. "But stick close and keep your weapons ready. There's no telling what might be lurking around here."   
  
"Yes, master, I hear and I obey," Owen drawled, tipping his ten gallon hat to the side for effect. John snorted cynically. He rechecked his two magazines for the second time; satisfied with their condition, he followed McDalen into the darkness. As each corridor was lit by the illuminator, they saw that many of the passageways had been blocked off by walls of flesh. McDalen led them through what passages were available. After a considerable trek in which they had found nothing, Owen noticed an escalator that had not yet been overgrown. John guessed that they were on the north side of the spaceport by now - his compass said that they'd been walking north since entering the deck. "Eh, this deck isn't entirely infested. Shall we look?"   
  
"Maybe later," McDalen replied. "I'd like to check out the maintenance bay first." He indicated a sealed side door for maintenance bay personnel. "The maintenance bay of a spaceport is always enormous. There's a good chance we'll find _something_ in the bay. Let's go." He swept around, but in that turn the illuminator shone for a fraction of a second down the escalator ramp and Owen called the praetor back. McDalen stopped, paused, and strode to Owen's position. "What is it?"   
  
"I saw a flash of white down there," Owen declared. "Bring that lantern over, will you?" The praetor considered the request for a moment, gave in, and illuminated the lower room. When he did, all four squad members instantly wished that he hadn't.   
  
"Oh my ... what _is_ that!" Owen gasped; John suddenly found his legs unsteady. The escalator led to a medium-sized room below, apparently once a passenger boarding area. It was free of infestation so far as they could see - light glinted off the metallic deck and bulkheads - but the room was full of something else. In the middle of the room, an enormous pile of human skeletons had been bunched together in a cone of agony reaching up to the ceiling. Crushed bits of bone lay scattered everywhere; even from his distance, John could easily distinguish skulls and other distinct skeletal parts. Even more eerily, many of the skeletons were intact, structurally complete. There was no trace of meat on any of the bones; they had been stripped clean, and when John experimentally lifted his gas mask, there was no smell of decaying flesh. The entire scene presented a uniformly grisly spectacle.   
  
"So ... no survivors," McDalen said sadly, pulling away the illuminator. They observed a moment of respectful silence, then McDalen added, "But this raises more questions than it answers. Why are all of these skeletons here? It looks like a graveyard."   
  
No one answered; John was still too shocked by what he had seen, Owen was trembling, and even Samus seemed affected by the scene. When he felt himself sufficiently recovered after half a minute, John and McDalen walked to the maintenance door. It was locked; the praetor studied it for a few moments and tried the brute force approach, slicing clean through the sealing device with one blow from his pulse blade. He pushed the door open and held up the illuminator.   
  
"You'll never take me alive!" a voice screamed from within. A moment later, a shape lunged out of the darkness at them, wielding a pipe too large to swing quickly. Then, as the figure came close ... "Argh, the light, the light, the ... light? Wait a minute, you're not with _them_!"   
  
Having instinctively unshouldered his rifle when the cry was first heard, it was only then that John had a good look and observed the figure. It was a balding man, perhaps in his mid-fifties, holding aloft an oversized pipe and looking both crazed and terrified. He blinked stupidly, and while McDalen had made no move, John saw that he had tensed up for a fight. Owen and Samus, drawn by the commotion, raced over to the maintenance door. The man was dressed in a stained laboratory coat and had long, dirty hair bound by a silver ring behind his head. _Poor guy - must be blinded after all the time he spent in the dark. Still, a survivor is a survivor._ As the man's eyes adjusted to the light, he asked, slowly and cautiously, "Who ... are ... you?"   
  
"Tim McDalen, Federation Praetor. With me are three bounty hunters - John St.-Varda, Owen Custer, Samus Aran."   
  
"Oh, a rescue team!" The man nearly collapsed with relief and Tim had to steady him. "It's about time you arrived! I was afraid that _they_ would be coming for me at any moment now."   
  
"Uh, actually, we were part of a rescue team, yes, but ... we're all that's left, actually." McDalen said this with some regret.   
  
The scientist instantly deflated. "What! You mean ...?" When McDalen nodded, the man banged his hand against a bulkhead in frustration. They waited until he had composed himself; the man swallowed and continued. "My apologies, it's just that ... well ... eh, so the Federation soldiers, too, huh? Looks like _they_ stole a march on you. Well, come inside. We don't want to attract _their_ attention, do we?" He laughed a little at his own joke; somewhat uneasily, John followed him into the room.   
  
It looked like a small food storage space. There were ration cans scattered about, stacks of foodstuffs piled against the bulkheads (a few of which had already been opened), and an illuminator, its batteries recently dead, propped up on a cardboard box. A small door in the side of the room was marked "privy." The man sat down in the middle of the room. "My name is Bill Proctor. I used to be a natural biologist studying the wildlife of Noriath. Can I offer you some C-rations, or do you prefer slices of beef that were sealed two years ago?"   
  
"I think I'll pass," Owen replied. The others voiced their collective agreement.   
  
Bill shrugged. "Fine by me. Welcome to the Lair, as I call it. I've a feeling that it won't be long before _they_ come for me. Of course, it's not like I can tell time down here. What day is it?" McDalen informed him. "Oh, that makes it - uh, nearly a month since I've started holing down here. The battery for that illuminator died some time ago. Makes it better, really; I like to be surprised when I open a new can of rations." Bill chuckled; _he must be at least partially deranged,_ John thought to himself. _Can't say I blame him, though._   
  
"So Bill, what exactly is going on here?" McDalen asked.   
  
The scientist shrugged. "You probably know more than I do. All I know is that I came to the spaceport - I was supposed to leave Noriath bringing a number of samples to some laboratory in who knows where. I got my ticket, took the stairs for the exercise, and next thing I know _they_ appear out of absolutely nowhere and start grabbing everyone. So I ran like hell and ended up here - built myself a little fortress where _they_ don't know where I am. I suppose you bunch have a similar story?" He stood up, propped his hands on the pipe, and rested his chin on it.   
  
"We were part of a rescue mission that went awry," McDalen replied. "There were almost two hundred soldiers to begin with - now, there's only the four of us still accounted for. Don't know where the others are - the tentacles took them."   
  
A shudder ran up Bill's spine. "Yes ... I have a feeling that _they're_ watching us."   
  
"What do you know about them?" McDalen inquired.   
  
"Well, in my crazier moments, I used to come out of the Lair looking around." Owen and John traded glances with each other, both of them arching eyebrows. "Back when that illuminator was still worth something. Never ran into _them_, if you know what I mean. But I did see plenty else." He leaned forward. "You know what _they_ do to people that they catch? Those people aren't eaten right off. No, the people - they're bred like animals. _They_ choose a healthy young male and a healthy young female. Then _they_ put them together in a small, isolated sac, release an aphrodisiac gas, and wham! Afterwards _they_ separate them again, isolate the mother - or should I say, the soon-to-be mother. For every person _they_ eat, another poor girl is impregnated."   
  
Sickened by the tale, John thought to himself, _The tentacles breed humans? For FOOD?!_ Owen's face had also turned a disquieting shade of green. McDalen, trying to remain stoic, was rapidly losing his battle to keep an impassive face.   
  
"I've studied _them_ as much as I could without getting caught," Bill continued. "_They_ seem to be related to the Archoela plant order, but at the same time, different. Archoela plants usually grow no more than a meter in size, though. But now I've figured it out! _They_ started off as Archoela order plants, but _they_ have animal characteristics too. Genetically altered, no doubt of that. Photosynthesis - that's the mark of a plant, you learn that in Biology 101 - _they_ undergo photosynthesis, yes, but not for themselves. The energy that comes from photosynthesis, _they_ use that to feed the prisoners, whom _they_ in turn use to feed themselves. That's how _they_ keep the prisoners alive until they're ready to be eaten. And I figured all of this out myself!"   
  
"Stars above," McDalen swore, "I've seen strange things in my years, but this can't be true!"   
  
"Believe it, alright!" Bill proclaimed. "I've gotten pretty far a few times without getting caught. I saw _their_ heart myself, three decks below ground level, one gigantic muscle that fills up a good deal of that level. And I found the seeds! _They_ keep the seeds at the bottom of that long cylinder built into the spaceport. I deciphered the purpose of those seeds, too. Aren't I a genius? Anyway, those seeds. When the seeds are mature - and I saw this happen myself, once - _they_ load a bunch of hibernating prisoners into the seed, about fifty give or take, and shoot them out into space, where the seed will drift until the gravity of a nearby planet pulls it in, and then it takes root in that planet's soil, and begins eating the prisoners to fuel its growth, and finally matures into more of _them!_ Repeat a few times and soon everyone in the galaxy will be _their_ slaves!"   
  
"This guy is crazy," Owen said, trying to sound dismissive but faltering.   
  
"Oh, you think I'm crazy?" Bill said, chuckling a little. "Why don't you go and see for yourself?" The mad scientist grinned; it made him look like one of Mother Brain's merrier henchmen. "You won't like this - no, not one bit. Open that door on the other side - the one you didn't bust - and you'll see for yourself. The maintainence deck apparently has a small backup generator, enough to light up the room. I just hope it hasn't gone out yet. I'll stay right here; I'd rather not look. Gives me nightmares, you see."   
  
McDalen was on his feet before the mad scientist had finished, leaving the functional illuminator on the deck of the supply room. Unbolting the door opposite the one they had entered from, he swung open the hatch and stepped into the big room of the maintenance deck. John followed a moment later, as did the other two bounty hunters. The main room of the maintenance deck spanned about three stories worth of height. It was an immense space, well-lit by the floodlights built into the ceiling. Apparently that backup generator was still good. Equipment had been scattered around the deck, but was mostly shoved to one side and piled together, useless. A catwalk overhead went around the whole room and was heavily stacked full of equipment. John barely noticed all of that.   
  
For in the center of the room was an image that chilled him to the core. Almost the whole room, all the way up to the ceiling, was filled with a thick, clear, gel-like material that let light seep through. And people hung suspended in that gel, each person with a fleshy appendage connected to his or her nose and midriff. These appendages hung from the ceiling; John instantly guessed their purpose, to provide the captives with air and nourishment. _Bred like animals ... that crazy scientist was dead right._ The entire mass of gel was full of people thus held; a distant corner of John's mind put in a cold estimate of about four hundred prisoners in this room alone. He realized that he recognized some of them; a few soldiers from the teams, technical leader from his squad. When the people suspended in the gel caught sight of the four soldiers, there was a collective movement, arms and legs flailing slowly through the thick mass in a vain effort to reach them. The living cords held on fast.   
  
"I don't believe this," Owen whispered, blanching. "It's a flaming _meat preserver_ for humans!"   
  
"Uh, what's that?" McDalen pointed. John's gaze was drawn to the bottom of the stack, where a long, fleshy tentacle, bright red, had just appeared out of the deck. It was about as thick as the average human and pushed easily enough through the gel. The moment it appeared, panic seemed to break loose as each person redoubled his or her efforts to escape, squirming violently in the confining prison. The tentacle reached for a sexy young lady close to the soldiers and then opened in the middle, splitting into two halves and clamping around the woman's waist, leaving the upper half of her body still visible. The thin tentacles hanging from the ceiling detached themselves from her mouth and waist. She opened her mouth; even through the gel, John dimly heard her desperate screams and shrieks of utter terror. The other prisoners shut their eyes and would not look, but morbid horror fixed the eyes of the soldiers to the scene. The tentacle - a tongue, John realized - suddenly contracted and the woman was pulled into it, a big bulge marking her passage through the tongue and into the deck, where John could now just barely distinguish a hideous mouth three meters in diameter. The woman screamed one last time; she disappeared, the tongue closed, and the shriek abruptly cut off.   
  
Pale and trembling, Owen fell to his knees. John himself felt none too well, staring in shock at where the woman had been. McDalen, also shaking, drew in a deep breath, unsheathed his pulse blade, and stalked towards the gel intent on cutting out all of the prisoners.   
  
"It's _them_!" The cry came from behind, from Bill. John's head whipped around to look and in doing so he caught sight of a number of tentacles emerging from every hole and crevice in the room. He swore profusely, unshouldered his rifle, and fired at the nearest tentacle. "Praetor, get back here! Now!" John yelled. The situation had rapidly devolved into chaotic. Owen swore, fired a huge blast of lasers into the mass of tentacles on their right, and Samus followed suit by firing a steady stream of missiles left. A swarm of tentacles converged on McDalen; he disappeared for an instant as John pumped a storm of bullets in his general direction, then McDalen emerged bloody and swinging the pulse blade for all he was worth. Behind them, Bill was screaming incoherently.   
  
"I say we get out of here," Samus commented. Owen yelled his agreement; the swarming masses of tentacles had grown thicker than ever. McDalen stumbled across the deck, still fighting off tentacles, as they began to edge back into the supply room. John ran out of ammunition, switched to his other magazine, and fired off a pair of concussion missiles to his right. Then Owen yelled for him to duck; John dropped to the ground, rolled away, and cleared a space for the energy cannon. As he jumped back up, John caught sight of a number of tentacles above them. "Look out!"   
  
The warning came too late. The tentacles descended in a split second, seizing the scientist Bill and knocking Owen down. The shot from the energy cannon went wide, impacting on a nearby tentacle, and the resulting explosion stunned John for a moment. He snapped his eyes back into focus, pulled his rifle around for an upward shot - and saw Owen Custer being dragged away by a number of tentacles, his energy cannon lying far out of reach some ten meters away. "Owen!"   
  
"Samus!" Owen screamed. "The catwalk! Blow it up, _now_!" He disappeared into the mass of roiling tentacles, as did the screaming mad scientist. John fired off one last missile into the nest of flesh, quickly discarded that magazine and slipped another in, but an overhead explosion nearly deafened him. Before he could gather his wits, Samus and McDalen were dragging him backward, one on each arm, and together they yanked him through the hatch. Seeing Owen caught by the tentacles, John had just enough breath to scream out one last "NO!" before an entire avalanche of heavy equipment rained down and blocked off the supply room from the larger room. Samus slammed the door shut and McDalen bolted it. Outside, the tentacles banged in vain.   
  
Inside the room, the illuminator threw off ghostly shadows. Wild with fury, John rammed his left fist into Samus' armor and nearly took off McDalen's face with a swing parried at the last moment. "Damn you both! Why did we leave him?! _Why!_ I could've saved Owen ... could've saved him ..." Frustrated, John banged his fists against the unforgiving bulkheads, his rage slowly seeping out of him and turning into despair.   
  
"You would've been captured yourself in the attempt," McDalen said softly.   
  
"What would be the point of losing you too, John?" Samus inquired.   
  
John ground his teeth, hatred flashing out of his eyes at Samus. "You're one to talk, Samus! First Wraith, and now Owen - you just, just - _abandoned_ - both of them! How many more people have you stabbed in the back?!"   
  
"John ..." McDalen interrupted, a hint of warning in his voice.   
  
"Shut up, Praetor! It's not my fault that Samus doesn't understand the bond between friends. Samus, you piece of trash - I'm going to shoot you right here!" John's arm snapped up in an instant, bringing his rifle on a straight beeline for Samus. Just before he pressed the trigger, Samus slid out of the way; a moment later, a sharp kick from the Praetor sent the rifle flying upwards, the shot ricocheting off the ceiling. John's rifle hit him squarely in the face. Then McDalen doubled him over with a fast solar plexus kick and in the next instant had him securely pinned to the deck. "Will you gather your wits, John?" McDalen shouted. "Do you think any of us wanted to leave Owen or Bill behind? Do you? But we did, and there was no help for it! Owen realized that, and that's why he had us blow that catwalk into shreds! Wake up and use your brain, John, if you still have one!"   
  
"Now, listen, Praetor -"   
  
"No, _you_ listen to me! I don't know what's between you and Samus, but we're in this together and we either work as a team or we all die. You saw what happened back there, those tentacles eat people. If you still want to save Owen, then come help us find the heart of this creature and stop it for good. Or do I have to tie you up here and come back for you later?" When John said nothing, McDalen nodded. "So you understand. Good. Try not to kill either one of us until the mission is over." He released his grip on John's shoulders.   
  
Sullenly, John retrieved his rifle, replaced the spent magazine stocks, and glanced uneasily at the entrance where the tentacles were still banging on the doors. He sighed deeply. "Poor Owen. He had so many dreams for the future, so much to live for, and now - gone. He got along well with everyone, especially Justine ... Justine ... she's going to be heartbroken when she hears of his death."   
  
"Rest in peace, Owen Custer," Samus intoned. "You've earned it."   
  
They filed out of the room, McDalen holding the illuminator and going first. John followed behind, both of them checking around warily, but there were no signs of the tentacles. "Now Bill said that the heart of the creature was three floors below ground deck - that's ten floors south of here. Let's go take a look." John and Samus nodded silently; when McDalen wasn't looking, John shot Samus a dirty look. He quickly snapped his head back to the front again when Samus' arm cannon began to emit a dangerous glow.   
  
All the way to the ground floor, the silent trio encountered no more enemy resistance. John found himself replaying the images - Bill cackling madly, the unnamed woman being eaten by the creature, Owen's last stand - again and again in his head, despite his best efforts to think of something, anything, else. His wish abruptly came true when they entered the first subdeck. Like the seventh floor, this deck was cleared infested, though not as heavily as the one they had passed. McDalen motioned for silence and the three of them, each with his or her own thoughts, crept down another two floors. Bill was right. Here the floor housed the heart of evil.   
  
McDalen held up the illuminator. Many of the separate bulkheads had been battered down long ago, leaving this floor surprisingly open-spaced. It was infested beyond belief, every available surface covered in thick layers of flesh. McDalen's eyes narrowed. "Samus, please scan this floor. I want to know exactly where the heart of the creature is."   
  
After half a minute, Samus reported, "Nestled up against the northwest side. It takes up about a quarter of this deck's space. Part of it is squeezed up right against the launch tube. If we could plant enough explosives in this thing, it'll pop like a balloon."   
  
"Good." McDalen led the way; five minutes later, they were standing in front of what had to be the heart. It was one large red muscle covered with pores and glistening fat. It contracted and expanded at a steady, predictable rate, sending blood to every last tentacle in the whole city. McDalen smiled hellishly. "Well, things are looking up for once. Okay, here's how I'll do things. I'll cut my way into a vein and let it carry me into the heart. Once I'm there, I'll plant the explosives, let myself be carried into an artery, and cut my way back out. Then boom!"   
  
"I think I'd be better suited for this task," Samus said. "There's a possibility that you'll be carried away by the current, whereas I have a Gravity upgrade. Besides, how are you going to breathe in there?"   
  
McDalen tapped his breath mask. "This'll filter out enough oxygen to keep me going. I can anchor myself with the pulse blade, cut out a space for the explosives. And besides, only I can arm the detonator, it's keyed to my fingerprint. I'll be in and out before you know it."   
  
"If you say so," Samus replied doubtfully.   
  
"I need all the power bombs you can give me."   
  
Samus morphed into ball form, laid down four power bombs, and resumed her normal shape. "That's all I have, and I had to drain my power suit's energies for that. My protection's down to a dangerously low level, so I hope this works."   
  
"It will, trust me." McDalen strung the bombs together. "The trick is to wire together the bombs so that all four of them explode at the same time. Fortunately, I have a detonator just for that. Let's find a suitable entry point." After some searching, they located a good-sized vein, almost as wide as a man was tall, followed it back to the heart, and McDalen nodded his approval. He paused only to strap a pair of goggles over his eyes. "This will do. Now, when I cut my way in, both of you have to pull back the flesh. It's going to get messy." Setting the illuminator down, McDalen planted the pulse blade all the way up to the hilt on the top of the vein. Then, nodding and gritting his teeth, he pulled the pulse blade down to the floor with one mighty effort. Blood began seeping out of the wound.   
  
John placed both hands into the cut, as did Samus from another side. McDalen studied the opening he had made. "When I go in, I want John to return to the seventh level immediately. We won't have much time to save Owen and the others before their oxygen supply is cut off. Samus, you stay here and direct me to the center of the heart. I won't have any light in there, so I'll need you to guide me in. And try not to kill each other when I'm gone, understand? That's an order." John and Samus glanced at each other before nodding. Then both of them pulled back, hard; blood rushed out in a huge stream of liquid. Bracing himself, McDalen forced one leg into the vein, then the other, then his torso. He disappeared in an instant, carried down the blood vessel. John and Samus let go and the flesh snapped back together, leaking blood.   
  
"I'm going, Samus." John shouldered his rifle, picked up the illuminator, and began to walk towards the stairflight they had come by. He paused to switch on the comlink. "Can you hear me, Praetor?"   
  
A much distorted voice replied after a moment. "I hear you, John. I'm still fine, but this current's strong. Where am I, Samus?"   
  
"Just entering the heart," she replied. "I'm tracking you on the X-ray scope; so far, the current seems to be working to your advantage. You're moving really fast, though. Just a little further and you'll be almost at the center of the heart. Okay, ETA, five, four, three, two, one ... now!" There was a brief pause, but whatever McDalen did obviously satisfied her. "Good. Set the explosives and get out of there."   
  
John reached the stairwell, but the instant that he did, he swore and yelled into the comlink, "We got company! Above us!" The tentacles sensed him a moment later and raced down; John whipped his rifle out and fired off a pair of concussion missiles, bringing down a blast door from out of nowhere between himself and the tentacles. "This exit's cut, we'll have to find another way up."   
  
"I hear you," Samus chipped in, "I'm having a few problems of my own here." Puzzled, John held the illuminator up high; a moment later, Samus emerged from the darkness pursued by a swarm of tentacles. Somehow she managed to run and fire backwards at the same time. John added his firepower to the mix and together they squeezed into a narrow passageway, holding off the tentacles. "Praetor, get out of there!" John called.   
  
"Go on without me, I can't help you now. I'm about to blow this joint apart."   
  
"But you haven't moved!" Samus objected, firing off a missile in the same breath.   
  
"Of course not!" McDalen called back through the comlink. "I have to make sure that all four power bombs detonate at the same time; otherwise, there won't be enough firepower to finish off this monster for good. If I don't hold down the explosives, they'll be swept away in a heartbeat. Plus, this detonator can only be activated manually; somebody had to stay behind and it was me."   
  
Horrified by the revelation, John felt his arms automatically fire the rifle while he tried to process all of what McDalen said. "You mean you _knew_ that this would happen?!"   
  
Within the heart of the monster, anchored to his position only by his pulse blade, Tim McDalen felt a tear slip out of his eye and collect on the goggles. "Yes ... I knew. But how could I have sent either of you? Understand my sacrifice, and know ... here I die, a Federation soldier to the end. Now go!" McDalen ended his talk and the communication fizzled out despite John's repeated shouts; a moment later, the entire floor was rocked by the force of the explosion and nearly threw John off his feet.   
  
"Let's get out of here!" Samus urged.   
  
"We have to wait for Tim!" John insisted, switching out a depleted magazine. But just then the ceiling rumbled ominously. In front of them the tentacles seemed angrier than ever. _Aren't they supposed to die?_ John wondered. _What's going on here?_   
  
"Are you kidding? He ordered us to go!"   
  
"... Aw, blast it! McDalen, you showoff!" Pausing only to pick up the illuminator, John and Samus fired a last volley, then raced down the corridor. The tentacles swarmed behind them, bits of flesh and blood on each one. And worse, the whole deck was shaking badly. Just how many tentacles were present? "They sure are persistent. Maybe we can lose them down here." Suiting his own words, John raced down a stopped and overgrown escalator, somehow managing not to lose the illuminator at the same time. Samus followed right behind him. Unfortunately, the tentacles came after them, too. This lower deck hadn't been infested, but the tentacles showed no sign of giving up the pursuit. Earsplitting crashes announced that the deck directly above them had collapsed on itself. As John and Samus raced blindly into the floor, new tentacles emerged from various places and took up the chase.   
  
"I thought they were supposed to be dead by now!" Samus shouted. Getting no response, she tried again. "So now what do we do?"   
  
John thought for a moment, heading left into a passageway. "Feed them."   
  
"_Feed_ them?! With what?"   
  
John answered by turning around in midstride and firing a bullet. It hit just above Samus' kneeplate and she collapsed to the ground, blood beginning to seep out of her armor. "With your body, of course!" John called back, racing onwards. "You may think you left Owen behind, but you'll be seeing him soon! Consider that payback!" He disappeared around a corner and left Samus in the darkness with the tentacles reaching out for her. He ignored Samus' angry reply; it abruptly cut off after a moment.   
  
When it seemed that the pursuit had given up - John thought about _why_ the tentacles had abandoned the chase with grim satisfaction - he slowed down to catch his breath, checking his rifle as he did so. Great. Nearly out of ammunition, with only one spare clip of bullets left. At the same time, there was the sobering realization that he was effectively stuck underground, for McDalen's heroic actions had collapsed the entire deck directly above him. Not entirely reassured, John made his way two decks lower. They, too, seemed free of infestation and this time no more tentacles appeared. Finding a small supply shed, John replaced the batteries of the illuminator. It seemed that weapons were not kept deep underground.   
  
John sat down against a bulkhead, reflecting upon the hot action of the last few minutes. His chronometer indicated that nearly four hours had passed since he had left the launch deck of the spaceport. Come to think of it, he hadn't had any sleep since they landed outside Sa'is Da'ar. What a wild ride - it would make a good story for Justine, if he lived to tell it. _Justine ... well, I wanted to see you one last time ... but it looks like I'm going to die here sooner or later. I hope you fall in love with someone else and live happily ever after._ Sighing to himself, John rose to his feet. _Might as well look around and see what I can find lying here._   
  
Another hour of exploration brought John two floors deeper underground. No food supplies, most unfortunately, and no tentacles either. He turned around another passageway, spied an open door - _what's a door doing opened?_ - and decided to check it. Coming around, John held up the illuminator, lit up the small room within. It was a medical station, with all sorts of medical supplies. And on one side of the room ... "You."   
  
Samus glanced up, expression unreadable behind the helmet. She had just finished bandaging her injured knee and John's bloody bullet lay on the deck beside her. In one motion, honed by years of responding to surprises, John's rifle flowed from his back into his hands. Samus, reaction slower due to injury and fatigue, fired a beam at him, but John dodged to the side and then fired back. His first shot went wide; the second, however, hit Samus' breast armor but failed to penetrate it. The impact stunned Samus and in a moment John had a boot planted firmly on the arm cannon. The fight instantly went out of her. "I don't know how you survived earlier," John growled, "but this is the end of the line for you, Samus. Now you'll pay for your sins - for Wraith, and Owen, and everybody else whom you betrayed." With those words, John leveled his rifle at Samus' face and aimed directly for the killing shot ... 


	7. Soft Comes the Dawn

**Soft Comes the Dawn**

* * *

**Author's Notes:** This is the revised ending of _Though Stars May Fall_. Many of the readers were dissatisfied by the original ending, so I finally got around to changing it. It's now much shorter, so enjoy, I suppose ...

* * *

_ Maintenance Room, Sa'is Da'ar Spaceport   
About the same time _   
  
"I don't know how you survived earlier," John St.-Varda growled, "but this is the end of the line for you, Samus. Now you'll pay for your sins - for Wraith, and Owen, and everybody else whom you betrayed. Repent in the afterlife!" With those words, John leveled his rifle at Samus' face and aimed directly for the killing shot. For a very brief moment he mused on the irony of the situation. He'd wanted to defeat Samus in a fair duel and take her life, but he simply refused to let this opportunity slip by. He paused only to kick off her helmet to ensure that it was fatal. And when he did, he had the shock of his life.   
  
Gazing back at him was the face of Justine B. Lee.   
  
"Wha -?!" And with that, his mind seemed to simply break down. The sudden loss of coherence was too much; his rationality ran wild in a medley of confusion ... confusion, uncertainty ... anger ... anger, _fear!_ ... _How is it possible_ ... confusion ... confusion ... FEAR! FURY! ... resolution - no, hesitance ...! - _this is impossible_ ... justice demands satisfaction, _she must pay for her crimes_ ... _Justine ...? No, you're crazy, you've lost it ..._ ... confusion, hesitance ... the surprise, the uncertainty ... _Justine ... my best friend ... in the whole galaxy_ ... SHOCK! TURMOIL! Collapsing hard onto the deck on his knees, bewildered, asking, "How? _How?!_"   
  
_You are the executioner,_ a part of his mind informed him.   
  
_You love her,_ a different part retorted.   
  
_Think this through. Samus Aran is a cold-hearted murderer who would kill you for a nickel. She used you, she used Nathan, she uses people. What have you lived for if not for this moment, John St.-Varda? You are defined by your single-minded quest for revenge, now take it! Justice demands satisfaction and she must have it!_   
  
_But you love her._   
  
_Love? A word used by the weak to exonerate their shortcomings._   
  
_Be that as it may, you cannot live without her._ John clutched at his head and screamed aloud as his carefully constructed reality seemed to shatter all around him. _What have I lived for if not for this moment ...? ... my best friend ... my mortal enemy ...! The one person who truly understands me! WHY?!_   
  
"You didn't know, did you?" asked Samus - Justine - whoever it was - sadly. She pulled herself to an upright sitting position. "Of course not ... no one knew. It's me, John - Justine, your girlfriend."   
  
"This is a nightmare," John muttered dazedly. Justine B. Lee, the one person whom he cared about above all others in the galaxy ... Samus Aran, the last chance child who was his sworn enemy ... one and the same ... John felt himself losing his hold on coherence once more. Like all idealists whose dreams are cruelly shattered, his reaction was one of instant denial. "It has to be ... this can't be real ..."   
  
"I am real!" she insisted.   
  
"Shut up!" John screamed, swinging his rifle around in a wide arc that caught her squarely on the jaw. She tumbled backwards to the hard deck as blood began to trickle from her lips. John jumped up and fixed his rifle sight on her exposed forehead once more. "I don't know who are you anymore, but you're not Justine Lee! You're not the sweet, innocent girl I know! You lied to me!"   
  
"I did not," she answered placidly, ignoring the blood streaming down her chin. "Never once have I masked my feelings for you. I still love you, John, and nothing you do can ever change that."   
  
Breathing hard and losing the battle to control his temper, John rasped out, "But you knew! You know how I felt about Samus! You know that I want her - you! - dead! And yet after all this time you said absolutely nothing?! How long did you expect to deceive me?! How long were you going to hide behind that cursed mask?"   
  
She half-shut her eyes. "People say that time heals all wounds. Were they wrong?"   
  
John raked her with a scathing gaze and shoved the rifle barrel right onto her exposed neck. He pulled the arming mechanism with ice-cold rage, at the same time demanding bitterly, "That's not good enough. Whatever happens, Nathan and Owen are _dead_. Dead, do you hear me?! And they died because you left them behind!" There was no pity in his eyes, but John refrained from pulling the trigger just yet. Even the condemned should have a chance to say her last words.   
  
"They understood why they died," she returned with the same maddening calmness. "They died to give us a chance. Would you throw your life away so eagerly in a hopeless and futile gesture? Would they have wanted that?" Her large, liquid eyes seemed to be probing his psyche. "Lowering the elevator would have killed both you and Wraith. And likewise with Owen - he knew that we must retreat or else all be overrun. _This_ is the reality of it, John! People die! Do you think, do you really believe for an instant that I _wanted_ to leave anyone behind? Do you have any idea how many sleepless nights I've spent agonizing over whether maybe, just _maybe_, I could have saved one more person? Life or death decisions cannot be changed once made, and yet I can't help but wonder if something else I might have done could have been the difference between life and death! I didn't want Wraith and Owen to die - I don't want anyone to die! - but life isn't fair like that!"   
  
"I can't accept that!" John cried. "I should've been there for Nathan ... for Owen ..."   
  
"Stop it!" she answered hotly. "Dredging up the past won't help them a bit! You know in your heart, even if not in your mind, that what I did was right. If we could have done any more, would've we have without a second thought?"   
  
"Oh, spare me your preachings!" John shouted. "You are a cold-blooded murderer who kills for money and nothing will ever change that!"   
  
To his surprise, her face seemed to melt into indescribable sadness. "You know who I am," she said softly. "I can't change the way you see me. You know that I love you, but you must tell me - who am I?"   
  
_Who are you ...?_ John dropped the rifle to the floor with a hollow clunk as he took a despairing half-step back. His friend and nemesis sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. John pressed a hand to his face, entirely uncertain of himself or what he was facing. _Samus Aran ... Justine Lee ... one and the same ... who is real and who is the imposter? Or are they both the grim reality of the situation? I see the armor of Samus but the face of Justine ... who is pretending to be who? What can I do ...? How can vengeance and ... and love ... both be satisfied?_   
  
John crouched and slowly picked up his rifle. He turned to look at ... Samus? Justine? ... and his expression showed a depth of sorrow that she had never seen before, not even when his best friend Wraith had passed on. A large tear slid down his cheek as he whispered, "I - I love you, Samus ..." He hastily wiped the offending object away.   
  
"Call me Justine."   
  
"Justine ... I love you ..."   
  
Tears began to fill her eyes too. "John, I love you too ..."   
  
He closed his eyes even as his right arm rose with unbelievable speed to fix the rifle sight with unerring precision on her head. His finger pulled - just a small motion, insignficant in and of itself - but it unleashed a bullet that moved more swiftly than any human ever could. The shell entered through her head an instant before John heard the soft, mechanical click that confirmed a shot. Eyes still tightly closed, John wondered if what he did was right. But this time there was no room for either hesitation or regret. _Samus Aran, the enemy who destroyed my life, whom I cannot live with ... Justine B. Lee, the woman who captured my heart, whom I cannot live without ..._ He opened his eyes. She had fallen to the deck without a sound, her beauty still unmarred save for a few traces of blood on her forehead and her chin. That was how she had been in life: shining visibly in her flawless loveliness and invisibly in spirit. John sank to his knees and reached out to caress her chin, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of her face. His eyes showed neither sadness nor regret, nor did tears shine in them. Instead, he went to work with cold, methodical efficiency, propping the rifle barrel so that it pointed straight up at his own chin. She was so very beautiful ...   
  
"We'll be together forever, Justine, whether in heaven or in hell." John St.-Varda pulled the trigger and sealed the pact.   
  


** Fin. **


End file.
